Cloister 
Wendhusen 


by- 
W.  Heirnburg 


FAC* 

S  N  f :  r 


032 

891 


Cloister  Wendhusen 

*  *  *  *  *  *   by  W. 

Translated  from  the  German  *£  -£  ^  £ 
by  -g^^if^^^^  Mary  E.  Almy 


d 


Chicago  and  New  York  *  *  * 
Rand,  McNally  &  Company 


Copyright,  1890,  \yy  Rund,  McNally  &  Co. 


Cloister  Wendhusen. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Now,  adieu,  Magdalena,"  said  my  guardian,  and 
kissed  me  somewhat  shyly  on  my  forehead,  while  moist- 
ure glistened  in  the  little,  kind  eyes.  "  Adieu,  little  one, 
and  do  not  worry  about  George;  I  will  watch  over  him. 
He  shall  visit  me  regularly  every  Sunday,  and  I  will  see 
that  on  that  day  he  writes  you  a  few  lines;  and — your 
mother's  grave  we  will  keep  in  good  order — Christiana 
and  I — my  child.  George  goes  there  often ;  isn't  that  so, 
my  boy?  So,  I  think,  that  is  all,  my  little  one — yet,  no; 
you  will  not  take  it  unkind  that  I  do  not  go  to  the  sta- 
tion with  you?  I  have  an  engagement  at  9  o'clock. 
Christiana  can  do  everything  for  you,  attend  to  the 
ticket  and  luggage,  and  remember,  you  change  cars  at 
Wolldorf.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  asking  questions;  it  is 
better  to  question  too  much  than  too  little.  Someone  will 
meet  you  at  Jenastedt;  possibly  your  aunt,  or  your  Cousin 
Fernande.  Accustom  yourself,  as  soon  as  may  be,  to 
your  new  and  strange  surroundings  at  Wendhusen,  and 
write  soon,  very  soon,  to  me!"  Yet  again  he  took  my 
hand,  and  with  the  other  stroked  my  cheek.  "  No  weeping, 
little  one,  no  weeping!"  he  said,  and  went  hastily  out  of 
the  room. 

"  Adieu,  Uncle!"  I  had  said,  softly,  and  in  spite  of  his 
command  not  to  weep,  the  hot  tears  filled  my  eyes. 

(5) 


213SS15 


6  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

Across  the  room,  against  the  window,  leaned  a  slender 
lad  of  eight  years;  his  arms  crossed,  and  a  dark,  defiant 
look  on  his  pretty  face,  that  was  framed  with  an  abun- 
dance of  dark  curls. 

"  You  will,  truly,  George,"  I  entreated,  "  write  to  me 
very  often,  won't  you?" 

He  nodded,  and  turned  around. 

"  And  on  mamma's  birthday  I  will  send  you  a  wreath, 
and  you  will  carry  it  to  her  grave,  dear;  I — I  can  not  do 
it  any  more."  The  tears  almost  made  the  last  inaudible. 

"  Yes,"  came  short  and  forced  from  the  lips  of  the  boy. 

"  And  once  in  awhile  send  me  a  few  flowers  from  her 
grave;  it  will  almost  seem  then  as  if  she  sent  a  greeting 
to  me,  George — " 

"O  Lena!  Lena!"  he  cried,  passionately,  throwing  his 
arms  around  my  neck,  sobbing,  and  clinging  to  me  in 
impetuous  tenderness.  "  Do  not  go  away.  Can  you  not 
stay  here?  Why  do  you  go  to  our  aunt  that  you  know 
mamma  did  not  like?" 

"  I  must  go,  dear  heart,  I  must! "  I  whispered,  pressing 
my  mouth  on  his  curly  head.  "  How  can  I  stay  here? 
Uncle  says  I  ought  to  be  very  thankful  that  aunt  will 
take  me;  otherwise  I  should  have  to  go  to  strangers — " 

"  But  Christiana  says  the  aunt  is  so  proud,"  he  inter- 
rupted; "suppose  she  should  be  hateful  to  you,  Lena?" 
He  bent  back,  and  looked  at  me  with  his  great,  dark  eyes, 
full  of  intense  anxiety. 

"  Why  should  she  be,  dear?"  I  answered,  seemingly 
calm,  although  I  was  far  from  feeling  so  in  my  heart. 

"  Because,  Lena,  she  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
mamma,"  he  declared;  "and  when  the  letter  came  from 
aunt,  when  she  wrote  to  uncle  you  might  come  to  her,  I 
heard  Christiana  say  to  herself:  'I  knew  it!  She  does 
not  take  the  poor  thing  out  of  love,  but  so  it  shall  not  be 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  7 

said  a  Fraulein  von  Demphoff  had  to  take  a  situation.' 
Don't  you  see,  Lena?" 

I  was  silent,  and  held  my  little  brother  close  in  my 
arms.  Thou  dear  God,  the  words  he  spoke  cut  into  my 
soul.  The  sister-in-law  of  my  mother — she  bore  the 
same  name  as  I,  and  yet  she  had  never  acknowledged 
mamma;  she  had  not  only  been  unfriendly,  but  had  never 
noticed  her  poor  relations —  Ah,  yes,  it  was  probable 
she  had  taken  the  niece  purely  from  this  motive. 

And  I  was  to  go  to  her  to-day!  It  was  already  fifteen 
minutes  of  9  o'clock,  and  the  train  left  about  half-past. 
I  looked  with  sad  eyes  on  my  boy,  who  still  clasped  me 
with  his  arms,  the  dear  little  lad!  How  could  I  leave 
him,  the  only  being  who  belonged  to  me  in  the  world 
since  our  mother  died,  after  a  year's  illness,  and  who  had 
loved  us  O,  so  dearly!  I  sank  down  on  the  floor  and 
leaned  my  head  against  his.  "  Ah,  mamma,  mamma,  why 
did  you  go  and  leave  us?"  broke  from  my  lips,  in  my 
fear.  If  she  had  lived,  I  should  not  have  to  go  away, 
and  George  would  not  have  to  grow  up  among  strangers! 
Suppose  he  should  be  ill;  he  was  so  apt  to  have  the 
quinsy  in  the  winter;  and  when  he  coughed,  who  would 
be  by  his  bed  to  hand  him  hot  milk,  and  pet  him  and 
comfort  him?  No  one.  A  nameless  anxiety  seized  me. 
I  could  not  go,  I  said  decidedly  to  myself;  I  could  not 
leave  him  even  if  I  had  to  live  in  the  poorest  attic,  and 
sew  for  our  living. 

"Christiana,  I  can  not  go,  I  will  not  go!"  I  cried  to 
the  old  woman  who  just  then  entered  the  room  and 
brought  me  a  cup  of  bouillon.  "  I  beg  you,  let  me  stay 
here  with  you!  I  do  not  care  what  I  do,  only  so  I  can 
be  with  George! " 

"  I  have  thought  it  all  over,"  she  nodded,  and  the  white 
cap  nodded,  too.  "That  is  just  like  the  blessed  Frau 


8  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

Mother,  who  on  that  account  never  went  out  of  the 
house;  but  this  time,  there  is  no  help  for  it;  you  must  go, 
Fraulein  Lena;  you  can  not  stay  here.  Now  don't  you  fret 
about  the  boy;  he  is  with  good  people  in  the  pension. 
The  Frau  Doctor,  you  will  see,  will  take  good  care  of 
him,  and  I  will  look  after  him,  you  know  that;  but  I  am 
vexed  with  him,"  she  said,  in  quite  another  tone,  "  that 
he  should  make  it  so  hard  for  you.  What,  with  his  howl- 
ing and  fussing,  one  would  take  him  for  a  cry-baby — 
shame  on  you,  George!"  She  set  the  cup  on  the  table, 
and  with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  apparently  very  angry, 
she  looked  at  the  boy,  who,  at  the  last  words,  tore  him- 
self loose  from  me,  and  throwing  back  his  head,  hastily 
wiped  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes.  "  I  am  not  crying,"  he 
said,  bravely. 

"  No,  to  be  sure  not;  boys  must  have  courage.  My 
Mann,  who  was  a  boy  with  your  blessed  father,  always  said 
there  never  was  a  sharper,  smarter  gentleman  in  all  the 
world,  and  it  would  be  strange  if  his  son  were  different. 
Now,  come,  Lenachen,"  she  said,  kindly,  to  me,  "  drink 
your  broth,  for  we  must  go;  it  is  high  time;  and  you, 
George,  you  must  go  back  to  your  class;  the  hour  you 
were  allowed  is  quite  past.  Now,  say  adieu,  and  be 
quick  about  it." 

"Adieu,  sister  Lena,"  whispered  he  in  my  ear,  and 
again  strained  his  arms  around  my  neck.  "I  will 
write  soon,  and  send  you  flowers;  and  Lena,  when  your 
next  birthday  comes,  will  you  not  be  seventeen  years 
old?" 

"Yes,  dear;  farewell,  farewell,  my  dear,  good  George," 
I  whispered;  "do  not  get  ill,  and  be  very  careful  when 
you  go  bathing,  and  in  the  gymnasium.  You  know 
mamma  was  always  so  anxious.  Go  often  to  see  uncle, 
and  be  industrious  in  school;  send  me  your  reports, 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  9 

won't  you?  and  if  Aunt  will  permit,  perhaps  you  can 
come  in  the  autumn  vacation ." 

"  Adieu,  Lena,  dear  Lena!  I  will  do  all  you  say,  only 
do  not  cry;  /am  not  going  to,  truly  not." 

He  rushed  out  of  the  room  without  turning  his  face. 
I  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  after  the  delicate,  slen- 
der boy;  he  was  just  thrusting  his  handkerchief  into  his 
pocket,  then  he  threw  back  his  head  proudly  and  went 
on  without  looking  around.  What  had  I  not  given,  had 
he  only  turned  just  once  his  pretty  face  to  me.  With  a 
full  heart  I  left  the  window. 

"Now  forward;  hurry!"  admonished  Christiana,  while 
she  threw  a  hasty  glance  at  the  clock  that  hung  over 
my  guardian's  writing-desk.  "  It  is  quite  a  distance  to 
the  station  and  the  droschke  will  be  here  directly,  and, 
FrSulein  Lena,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  Your 
Frau  Aunt  I  have  known  for  many  years,  from  the  time 
I  began  to  serve  your  parents;  when  they  were  first  mar- 
ried, I  went  with  them  to  Wendhusen.  It  is  very  fine  there, 
Fraulein.  You  will  wonder  at  the  castle,  the  rooms  and 
halls,  and  the  park;  you  have  never  seen  anything  like  it. 
Yes,  what  I  wished  to  say,  your  Frau  Aunt,  the  Frau  von 
Demphoff,  is  a  remarkable  woman.  Cold  as  ice.  Do 
not  think  that  she  will  come  toward  you,  as  your  blessed 
mother  would  do  when  you  came  back  from  a  walk,  so 
glad  to  see  you  that  she  must  take  you  to  her  heart  and 
kiss  you;  first,  she  isn't  your  mother,  and  second,  she  has 
no  kisses  for  her  own  children.  At  that  time  they  were 
little  things,  the  eldest  perhaps  eleven  years,  and  the 
little  girls  seven  and  five  years;  I  never  saw  the  mother, 
however,  caress  them.  Ah,  how  very  different  was  your 
mother,  FrJiulein,  who  scarcely  left  the  nursery  for  anxiety 
and  watchfulness.  How  pretty  she  used  to  look  sitting 
by  your  cradle,  almost  a  child  herself,  just  as  dainty,  and 


10  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

little,  and  slender  as  you  are,  with  just  such  dark  curls 
and  eyes. 

"  But  drink  your  beef  tea,  Fraulein,  drink;  I  only 
wanted  to  tell  you  this,  so  you  would  not  wonder  if  there 
were  no  delight  and  rejoicing  on  your  arrival,  and  no  one 
particularly—  well,  I  am  talking  too  much;  you  will  find 
it  out  yourself,  child,  and  your  head  isn't  going  to  be 
bitten  off,  and  one  can  get  accustomed  to  everything,  and 
anyway,  it  is  better  than  to  go  among  strangers,  and 
be  a  governess." 

"  And,  Fraulein  Lena,  you  will  not  take  it  amiss  that  I 
have  said  so  much,"  she  began,  after  a  pause,  and  the 
friendly,  earnest  face  flushed  dark-red  under  the  snow- 
white  cap.  "  You  see,  FrSulein,  I  have  lived  through 
good  and  bad  days  with  your  Frau  Mother,  and,  poor 
soul,  there  were  more  bad  than  good;  but  the  dear  God 
sent  them,  and  He  knows  what  is  best.  I  was  married 
from  her  house,  and  when  your  Herr  Father  died,  and 
your  Frau  Mother  could  no  longer  keep  a  maid,  I  was 
her  waiting-woman  till  now,  and  I  have  always  meant 
well,  and  have  done  what  I  could;  the  blessed  mistress 
knew  that.  My  goodness!"  she  interrupted  herself. 
"Hurry,  Fraulein!  put  on  your  hat  and  veil;  the 
droschke  is  at  the  door.  There  is  plenty  of  time,  only 
hurry.  Here  is  your  lunch,  some  buttered  bread,  and 
wine  and  water.  You  have  no  need  to  say  good-bye 
to  anyone  else?  No;  your  guardian  has  gone  to 
market;  then,  I  will  lock  the  door.  Have  you  your 
pocket-book?  Dear  sakes,  what  an  untidy  house  a 
widower  has,  to  be  sure!  Don't  fall  down  the  stairs, 
Fraulein,  it  is  so  dark  there;  now,  get  into  the  carriage. 
Coachman,  drive  fast  to  the  central  station." 

I  sat,  as  in  a  dream,  while  we  spun  through  the  famil- 
iar streets.  The  usual  throngs  were  hurrying  to  and  fro. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  11 

There  was  the  large  dry-goods  house  for  which  my  poor 
busy  mother  had  sewed  so  many  stitches;  there  the 
church,  where  at  Easter  I  was  confirmed;  and  now  we 
were  in  the  street  where  we  used  to  live.  I  bent  my  head 
out  of  the  carriage  and  caught  a  flying  glance.  How 
dreary  the  three  empty  windows  in  the  third  story 
looked  down  at  me.  Ah,  how  often  from  there  a  loving, 
gentle  face  had  smiled  and  nodded  to  me  as  I  came 
home  from  school!  For  weeks  the  dreadful  black  coffin 
had  hid  from  me  those  dear  features,  and  the  earth  now 
pressed  heavily  upon  it.  And  farther  we  went;  and  the 
droschke  jolted  over  the  uneven  road,  and  Christiana 
held  my  hand  and  talked  to  me — what,  I  do  not  know. 

And  then  the  rush  at  the  station;  the  luggage  was 
checked,  the  ticket  bought,  and  then  the  bell  rang  for 
the  passengers  to  take  the  coupes. 

"  Conductor,  conductor,  lady's  coup6,"  called  Christi- 
ana. "  See,  it  is  quite  empty,  child.  Now  don't  lose  your 
ticket;  and,  Fraulein  Lena,  remember  I  will  look  after 
and  care  for  George  like  the  apple  of  my  eye.  Now,  hold 
your  head  up  like  the  best;  don't  go  headlong  into 
things,  and  take  what  comes  with  composure — but  you 
have  a  wise  little  head,  like  your  Frau  Mother.  God  pro- 
tect you,  Lenachen;  come  again  soon  to  us,  and 
don't  forget  me  and  my  old  man.  I  shall  think  often  of 
you.  May  it  go  well  with  you.  Nay,  nay,  be  brave;  now 
don't  weep  like  that,"  and  she  held  my  hand  as  in  a  vise, 
while  great  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips 
trembled  and  worked  in  suppressed  emotion.  Another 
hand  pressure,  a  last  adieu,  a  last  message  to  George; 
then  a  shrill  whistle  sounded,  and,  puffing  and  snorting, 
the  long  train  set  itself  in  motion.  I  leaned  out  of  the 
window  for  a  last  look  at  the  tall  figure  that  stood 
motionless  on  the  platform  and  held  the  hand  over  the 


12  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

eyes,  the  better  to  watch  the  slowly-moving  train;  then  I 
could  see  her  no  more,  and  I  leaned  back  in  the  seat 
with  a  sick  feeling  of  desolation  and  loss.  It  seemed  to 
me  I  was  a  feather,  being  whirled  around  in  the  pitiless 
wind,  without  protection,  without  support,  alone,  alone 
without  a  home,  without  a  father's  house. 

It  was  the  first  journey  I  had  ever  taken;  until  now  I 
had  never  been  out  of  the  large  town  where  I  was  born 
and  had  grown  up. 

I  raised  my  eyes  to  the  region  we  were  flying  through. 
The  steeples  of  the  town  were  almost  lost  in  the  sea  of 
vapor  that  spread  around  us;  then  the  train  thundered 
over  the  great  iron  bridge;  then  it  cut  through  green  mead- 
ows, and  here  and  there  a  white  sail  showed  in  the  far 
distance,  and  finally  all  became  unfamiliar  and  strange. 

Then  came  again  the  sick,  frightened  feeling,  the  inex- 
pressible longing  for  my  little  brother.  I  buried  my 
face  in  the  bolster  of  the  coach,  and  gave  myself  up  to 
the  luxury  of  a  good  cry. 

Then  I  felt  comforted,  and  also  too  exhausted  to  feel 
keenly  any  more,  and  I  resigned  myself  to  the  present 
moment  and  fell  into  deep  thought.  My  childhood  rose 
before  me.  I  had  scarcely  left  it,  and  yet  in  the  last  few 
weeks  I  had  grown  so  old  in  my  feelings.  I  went  far 
back  to  the  beautiful  time  when  papa  was  living,  and 
how  I  would  run  to  the  door  to  meet  him,  shouting  to 
be  tossed  up  in  the  air. 

We  were  not  living  then  in  the  close,  narrow  attic- 
rooms.  I  saw  elegant,  comfortable  surroundings,  and 
my  dainty,  high-bred  little  mother  in  costly  robes.  My 
mother — she  came  before  me  like  a  picture  out  of  that 
time — a  charming  picture.  I  could  not  identify  this 
fairy-like  creature  with  the  suffering,  broken  woman 
of  the  later  days,  with  the  large,  hollow  eyes  that  looked 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  13 

out  into  life  with  such  unspeakable  sorrow  and  grief  in 
their  depths. 

Later  came  a  veil  over  my  remembrance.  It  was  to 
me  as  if  a  something  was  in  our  home  that  was  paralyz- 
ing— that  lay  like  a  pall  over  its  inmates.  I-  remember 
that  mamma  often  wept,  and  that  my  father  would  speak 
loud  and  sharp  to  her,  and  then  for  days  would  not 
come  back  to  the  house. 

Only  Christiana  remained  clear  to  my  recollection.  I 
thought  she  must  look  to-day  just  as  she  looked  at  that 
time,  when  she  would  stick  bonbons  in  my  mouth,  or 
pick  me  up,  almost  violently,  and  carry  me  down-stairs  to 
the  kitchen  when  the  talk  was  so  loud  and  harsh  in  my 
mother's  room.  And  then  came  one  morning — a  morn- 
ing I  shall  remember  with  bliss  as  long  as  I  live.  Chris- 
tiana took  me,  drunk  with  sleep,  out  of  my  little  bed, 
and  carried  me  into  my  mother's  bed-room,  and  my  won- 
dering eyes  fell  on  a  cradle  beside  her  bed,  and  therein 
lay  asleep  my  sweet  little  baby  brother.  I  scarcely 
know  how  the  time  passed  after  that.  I  would  sit 
for  hours  beside  his  cradle,  with  my  little,  earnest  face 
turned  to  the  wee  sleeper.  I  was  too  intent  on  my 
watch  to  remember  to  eat  or  drink.  Once  my  father 
came  into  the  quiet  nursery.  He  stood  by  the  cradle 
and  looked  down  on  the  little  one,  and  as  I  tried  to 
embrace  him  lovingly,  he  almost  roughly  pushed  me  back. 

He  was  a  large,  proud-looking  man,  with  blonde  hair 
and  beard.  I  remember  him  so  distinctly  at  this 
moment,  as  he  slowly  turned  to  my  mother,  who  had 
just  entered  and  come  to  the  cradle.  Then  there  was  a 
conversation  between  them,  at  first  in  a  quiet  tone;  then 
suddenly  I  was  filled  with  fear,  for  my  father  caught  the 
slender  figure  of  mother,  and  pressed  her  passionately 
to  him  and  cried  out: 


14  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

"  Elsie,  my  poor  Elsie,  would  you  had  never  seen  me! 
I  am  guilty  of  your  unhappiness,  and  of  the  children — " 

She  laid,  warningly,  her  hand  on  his  lips,  and  pointed 
to  me,  and  in  the  same  moment  that  Christiana  came 
and  carried  me  out  of  the  room,  I  heard  the  low  sobs 
of  my  mother. 

Then  came  the  christening,  and  for  the  last  time  our 
house  displayed  its  elegance  and  luxury.  There  were 
many  guests,  and  I  went  around  the  circle,  giving  my 
little  hand,  like  a  polite,  well-trained  child. 

On  that  day  I  saw  my  mother  for  the  last  time  in  a 
colored  dress;  it  was  a  deep-red  silk.  She  pleased  me 
in  it,  and  her  dark,  curly  head  looked  very  lovely  from 
under  the  wreath  of  red  fuchsias. 

Soon  after  that  we  moved  into  a  smaller  dwelling, 
which  grieved  me  very  much.  It  was  a  very  quiet  street 
in  which  we  now  lived,  and  there  were  many  steps  to 
climb.  Then  my  father  went  on  a  journey.  In  the  hour 
of  parting,  my  mother  embraced  him,  weeping  bitterly, 
and  he  kissed  me  and  my  little  brother  again  and  again. 
Christiana  finally  came  to  say  it  was  time  for  him  to  go, 
and  as  he  left  the  room  he  said  again  the  words  that  he 
so  often  said  those  days:  "  I  hope  to  come  back  soon, 
and  take  you  away  with  me." 

And  every  night  my  mother  would  fold  my  hands  and 
tell  me  to  pray  for  the  dear  father  who  had  gone  far,  far 
over  the  sea — so  very  far. 

How  many  hundred  times  have  I  said  that  prayer,  and 
tried  to  see  the  rocking  ship  that  Christiana  described  to 
me.  I  would  shut  my  eyes  and  make  a  picture  of  a 
water  surface,  where  one  only  saw  water  and  sky,  so 
Christiana  said,  but  a  little  piece  of  land  would  shove 
itself  in. 

We   lived  very  quietly.     Christiana  no  longer  lived 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  15 

constantly  with  us.  She  had  married  papa's  servant, 
and  only  came  to  us  certain  hours  every  day. 

George  learned  to  run  about,  and  one  day  my  mother 
said  papa  had  written  that  early  in  the  New  Year  he 
would  come  to  bring  us,  and  then  we  would  go  on  the 
big  ship  over  the  wide  sea. 

But  it  was  all  very  different.  Father  died  of  one  of 
those  terrible  diseases  that  often  attack  a  foreigner  in 
that  climate.  I  did  not  know  then  what  it  meant  to  lose 
him.  I  only  felt  my  mother  was  in  great  trouble  when 
I  saw  her,  half  mad  with  pain  and  grief,  pace  up  and 
down  the  narrow  room,  and  heard  her  despairing  moans; 
but  I  learned  to  realize  the  truth,  for  want  came  to  us — 
the  bitterest  want. 

My  mother  gave  herself  up  to  the  most  sombre  grief. 
She  worked  now  for  money,  and  taught  my  childish 
hands  also  to  work.  White  and  still  she  sat  at  the  win- 
dow, and  the  only  movement  was  the  delicate  little 
hands  that  unceasingly  drew  the  thread  through  the 
fine  cambric. 

Only  sometimes  when  George  would  come  and  fondle 
her,  and  she  looked  into  the  loving  eyes,  then  she  would 
break  out  into  tears,  and  throw  her  work  away  and  clasp 
him  in  her  arms.  "  My  child,  my  poor  children,"  she 
would  cry,  and  it  would  be  hours  before  she  could  com- 
pose herself. 

As  time  went  on  she  grew  resigned.  A  wonderful  will 
dwelt  in  that  delicate  body.  If  I  awoke  in  the  night,  I 
would  see  her  at  the  table  sewing,  and  when  the  day 
dawned  she  was  again  at  her  work. 

Then  I  was  sent  to  school,  and  it  was  at  this  time 
that  I  first  knew  I  had  an  aunt.  My  guardian  had  urged 
my  mother  to  apply  to  the  wife  of  my  dead  uncle  for 
assistance.  I  well  remember  when  the  answer  came,  how 


16  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

deathly  white  my  mother  looked  when  she  sank  back  in 
her  chair  after  reading  the  letter.  "  They  hold  me 
guilty!"  she  said,  half  aloud;  "  guilty  of  his  misfortune!  " 

And  "  I  am  guilty!"  she  repeated  over  and  over,  till 
Christiana  appeared. 

"  Christiana,  I  am  guilty  of  our  misfortune,"  said  she, 
with  a  pitiful  moan.  "  I  am  the  cause  of  my  husband's 
death." 

Christiana  took  the  letter,  and,  after  reading  it,  threw 
it  into  the  stove.  She  trembled  with  anger,  but  only 
said:  "Don't you  weep,  Madam;  it  isn't  worth  your  tears." 

Dear  mamma  was  taken  ill  that  day,  very  ill;  and 
when  she  recovered  she  was  the  still,  broken-spirited 
woman  she  remained  to  the  end.  She  talked  with  us; 
she  laughed  also;  but  it  was  quite  different  from  the  old 
days. 

So  I  grew  up  under  this  pressure  of  work,  deprived  of 
all  amusements,  and  yet  joyful  as  a  child  in  the  happiest 
circumstances.  I  thought  it  so  beautiful,  in  our  man- 
sard dwelling  with  the  ivy  running  around  the  walls.  It 
was  so  lovely  when  Christiana  would  take  us  walking  on 
Sunday,  and  would  buy  us  buns  with  her  money.  And 
O,  the  afternoon  hour!  As  I  sat  at  the  window  busy  with 
my  sewing,  and  the  clock  in  St.  John's  tower  across  the 
way  struck  4,  how  quickly  I  would  lean  out  of 
the  window  and  watch  for  the  sight  of  the  dear  little  fig- 
ure that  would  come  bounding  up  the  street,  on  the  full 
run,  around  the  corner,  and  up  the  steps,  our  darling, 
our  hearts'  delight! 

The  school-boy  flew  to  the  nearest  chair,  the  lunch- 
box  landed  on  the  table,  and  our  sweet  little  mother 
looked  with  kindling  eyes  to  see  how  he  bit  into  the 
bread  with  his  strong  young  teeth,  the  bread  that  sister 
Lena  had  spread  very  thinly. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  17 

The  long  winter  evenings  were  beautiful  in  our  little 
room,  and  dear  were  the  summer  afternoons,  when  we 
went  walking  or  sat  with  our  sewing  in  the  shady  park. 

And  doubly  dear  all  this  seemed  to  me,  now  I  was  to 
lose  it  and  go  among  strangers!  Like  a  hateful  dream 
came  up  to  me  the  black  coffin;  the  strange  people  that 
took  it  away;  Christiana  weeping;  and  afterward  the 
uncomfortable  life  at  my  guardian's,  with  his  untidy 
housekeeper. 

How  fast  events  had  rushed  on!  how  the  time  had 
flown!  I  awakened  first  to  a  realizing  sense  of  what  had 
befallen  me,  when  they  said  I  must  be  separated  from 
George,  and  that  my  aunt  had  had  the  goodness  to  take 
me  into  her  home.  This  was  a  trial  more  overwhelm- 
ing than  the  death  of  my  mother,  for  she  had  looked  so 
peaceful  in  death — there  was  such  a  blessed  smile  around 
the  sweet  lips. 

"It  is  well  with  her,"  Christiana  had  said.  "It  is  well 
with  her." 

We  had  taken  no  farewell  of  her.  One  night  she 
fell  into  a  sweet  slumber,  and  from  the  earthly  sleep  she 
passed  into  the  other;  yes — it  was  well  with  her,  but 
we — my  little  brother 

The  hot  tears  rushed  into  my  eyes,  but  I  pressed  my  lips 
together  and  looked  out  into  the  smiling  landscape  we 
were  passing  through.  Yellow  waved  the  corn  fields  in 
the  wind,  here  and  there  lay  a  town  in  the  shadow  of 
old  oaks,  and  over  all  the  cloudless  blue  heavens.  Was 
there  sorrow  and  pain  in  the  world? 


CHAPTER  II. 

Finally  the  locomotive  whistled  for  the  last  time,  and 
the  train  rolled  into  the  terminus. 

"Jenastedt,"  cried  the  conductor,  as  he  threw  open 
the  door  of  the  coupe. 

With  throbbing  heart  I  bent  out  and  peered  around. 
Some  ladies  were  standing  on  the  platform,  but  they 
hastened  eagerly  to  another  coupe1.  Several  gentlemen 
were  talking  in  groups;  one  of  them  raised  his  lorgnette 
to  his  eye  and  stared  at  me  boldly,  but  no  one 
came  to  find  me,  and  timidly  I  descended,  filled  with 
anxiety. 

"  Baggage  to  be  taken  to  the  town,  FrSulein?"  asked 
a  baggage-man. 

"  No,  I  think "  I  replied,  all  the  time  looking  right 

and  left;  "I  wish  to  go  to  Wendhusen,  and " 

"  There  is  a  carriage  there,  from  Wendhusen,  FrUulein, 
the  cloister  coach,  and  old  Gottlieb.  You  are  a  stranger? 
Well,  go  around  there,  around  the  house,  and  give  me 
your  luggage  checks  and  I  will  take  your  things  to  the 
carriage." 

I  followed  the  direction  and  stepped  around  the 
building;  a  hotel  carriage  was  just  driving  away. 

In  another  very  handsome  equipage  sat  some  ladies, 
the  same  I  had  seen  on  the  platform.  There  was  only  one 
other  conveyance  there,  a  remarkably  uninviting-look- 
ing coach,  with  half  the  top  thrown  back,  and  which 
appeared  to  stand  very  shaky  on  its  wheels.  On  the 

(18) 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  19 

high  seat  sat  an  old  man,  as  straight  as  a  candle,  hold- 
ing the  reins  with  all  the  dignity  possible  belonging  to 
his  calling;  his  brown  livery  coat  was  much  the  worse 
for  wear,  and  the  horses  were  in  striking  contrast  to 
their  driver's  erect  bearing,  for  their  tired  heads  hung 
nearly  to  the  ground. 

I  drew  near  to  the  shabby  old  coach. 

"Is  this  a  carriage  from  Wendhusen?"  I  asked  the 
coachman. 

"Yes,  Fraulein,".he  replied,  taking  off  his  cap,  and 
hurriedly  scrambling  down  from  the  box. 

"  Pardon,  Fraulein-;  I  thought  Anna  was  at  the  plat- 
form to  meet  you.  God  knows  where  she  is,"  he  con- 
tinued angrily  to  himself  as  he  opened  the  carriage  door. 

"  Please  get  in,  Fraulein;  she  must  be  back  directly. 
She  went  to  do  an  errand  in  the  town  for  Frau  von 
Riedingen;  we  have  waited  long  enough  already  for 
her." 

I  got  in,  leaned  back,  and  waited.  It  was  hot,  and 
on  this  side  of  the  building  the  sun  lay  in  its  full 
power.  My  luggage  had  long  since  been  fastened  on 
the  carriage;  the  coachman  sat  on  his  box  again,  with  an 
impatient  scowl  on  his  face;  the  horses  now  and  then 
switched  off  a  fly;  the  highway  which  stretched  away  in 
the  distance  to  the  town  showed  no  one  who  appeared 
to  belong  to  us. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  then  another;  the  old 
man  murmured  an  oath,  and  evidently  would  enjoy 
going  on  and  leaving  the  "Anna"  behind. 

I  shut  my  eyes  for  very  weariness,  and  from  the  many 
tears  I  had  shed,  my  head  ached  fearfully.  Finally  I  heard 
a  voice,  and  there  behind  the  carriage  stood  a  stout  little 
person,  almost  smaller  than  I,  in  a  light  summer  dress, 
with  innumerable  ruffles,  and  under  the  large  straw  hat, 


20  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

much-trimmed  with  field  flowers  and  blue  ribbon,  I  saw 
a  very  round  face,  flushed  to  a  dark  red,  with  small  eyes 
that  were  at  this  moment  directed  on  a  little  boy  who 
held  a  large  box,  almost  as  large  as  himself;  the  cover 
had  slipped  to  one  side  and  a  white  mull  texture  was 
shoved  into  view. 

"  For  heaven's  sake!  "  she  cried  out.  "  You  wiH  let  the 
whole  dress  fall  out,  you  awkward  clown."  She  took  the 
box  from  him  and  placed  it  on  the  back  seat,  so  that  I 
was  obliged  to  straighten  myself  up  from  my  comfort- 
able position,  and  sit  as  bolt  upright  as  old  Gottlieb, 
in  order  not  to  bring  my  black,  dust-covered  dress  in 
contact  with  the  airy,  immaculate  contents  box.  Then  the 
little  person  sat  herself  opposite  me  with  a  short  "  Good 
day,"  drawing  on  her  lisle-thread  gloves.  "  Now,  hurry, 
Gottlieb,  it  is  high  time  ;  it  must  be  nearly  half-past 
4  o'clock,  and  my  mistress  makes  her  toilet  at  6, 
and  heaven  protect  me  if  we  do  not  get  there." 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  that  before,"  growled 
the  old  man;  "they  are  both  too  old,"  pointing  with  his 
whip  to  the  horses.  "  Why  haven't  you  been  punctual? 
The  Fraulein  must  have  nearly  burned  up  in  the  heat." 

"  Was  it  my  fault  that  the  dressmaker  didn't  have  the 
dress  ready?"  she  asked,  pertly,  without  being  in  the  least 
embarrassed  before  me.  "  Of  course  I  had  to  wait  for 
the  dress;  that  was  my  duty,  and  you  must  get  me  to 
the  house  at  the  right  time.  That  is  your  duty." 

"  That's  all  well  enough  to  say,"  nodded  the  old  man, 
taking  his  erect  position;  "  but  I  can't  do  any  more  than 
I  can.  Your  mistress  should  have  sent  Friedrich  with 
the  chestnut  horse ;  then  she  could  have  had  her  fur- 
belows at  the  right  time.  What  will  be,  will  be. 
Get  up!  "  he  cried  out,  clicking  with  his  tongue,  and  with 
slow  steps  the  horses  set  themselves  in  motion. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  21 

Oh,  how  lovely  it  was  to  ride  in  a  carriage  !  I  forgot 
all  fear  as  we  now  reached  the  height  of  the  road  that 
led  up  over  a  wooded  hill.  Then,  below  wound  a  little 
rushing  stream  through  a  waving  green  meadow;  and 
opposite,  again,  arose  a  wooded  mountain-ridge,  and 
behind  this,  blue  mountains  raised  themselves,  and  there 
were  valleys,  and  mountains,  and  woods  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see,  in  wonderful,  luxurious  freshness.  The  small 
eyes  under  the  straw  hat  looked  much  amused  at  my 
enthusiasm,  as  I  said  aloud:  "  How  glorious!  "  But  old 
Gottlieb  turned  himself  around  and  his  face  beamed. 

"  Yes,  truly,  Fraulein,  it  is  beautiful  with  us;  and  see 
there  behind  the  high  mountain  lays  Wendhusen;  it  is 
truly  a  bit  of  Paradise  that  we  have  here." 

"  Ah,  yes,  indeed  it  is  beautiful,"  I  assented,  as  I 
looked  up  into  the  tops  of  the  old  oaks  and  beeches,  for 
we  were  now  driving  through  the  woods. 

"  This  isn't  anything,  gracious  Fraulein  ;  wait  until 
you  get  into  our  own  forest.  You  have  never  seen  such 
trees,  such  giants.  These  are  nothing,"  he  said,  dis- 
paragingly, pointing  to  the  trees  around.  "  Yes,  our 
master  had  his  greatest  pleasure  in  the  woods,  and  the 
entire  province  can  not  show  such  a  forest."  And 
the  horses  slowly  trotted  along  through  the  smiling 
region. 

"  That  is  Flissen,"  he  turned  back  again  to  say  after 
a  while,  as  a  stately  castle  became  visible  through  the 
green  tree-tops;  "that  belongs  to  the  Baron  Stelten. 
Pr-r-r,"  called  he,  suddenly,  at  the  same  time  pulling  his 
horses  back  hastily,  and  in  the  same  moment  flew  close 
in  front  of  us,  out  of  an  avenue,  a  light  carriage,  and 
turned  into  the  main  road.  It  was  drawn  by  a  hand- 
some pair  of  bay  horses,  and  two  ladies  sat  on  the 
coachman's  seat. 


22  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

For  an  instant  I  saw  a  young  face  under  a  white  veil 
glance  at  me  with  indifference.  Of  the  lady  by  her  side, 
who  was  driving,  I  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  abundant 
yellow  hair  coiled  low  on  the  neck,  and  a  small  hat  on 
the  proudly-carried  head.  On  the  back  seat  sat  a  serv- 
ant in  livery  with  crossed  arms.  Quick  as  an  arrow,  they 
were  by  us  and  away,  leaving  a  cloud  of  dust  behind 
them. 

"  Heavens!  my  mistress!     If  they  go  to  the  house  and 

find  the  dress  not  there .     Gottlieb,  do  drive  faster," 

cried  my  neighbor,  impatiently. 

"Really,"  I  interrupted,  surprised,  "was  that  my 
cousin,  Frau  von  Riedingen?" 

"  Frau  von  Riedingen,  surely,"  she  replied,  with  a  half- 
compassionate  glance.  "  She  has  Fraulein  Stelten  with 
her;  she  is  going  to  take  her  to  the  reunion  at  D — . 
The  Fraulein  has  lost  her  parents,  and  the  gracious  Frau 
is  very  fond  of  her,  and  hopes  she  will  be " 

She  cleared  her  throat  and  was  silent. 

I  was  silent  also. 

My  pleasure  in  my  drive  was  gone.  The  old,  sick,  anx- 
ious feeling  came  back,  as  I  saw  the  elegant  appearance  of 
my  cousin,  and  another  feeling — that  of  shame  and 
mortification.  No  one  had  gone  to  meet  me.  I  was 
being  brought  in  the  old  cloister  coach,  and  seated  beside 
my  cousin's  maid!  But  had  not  Christiana  prophesied 
that?  Had  she  not  said  no  one  would  be  glad  to  see  me? 

I  felt  my  face  was  scarlet.  Proudly  I  sat  erect  upon 
the  seat  and  whispered  to  myself:  "  Be  calm,  and  hold 
your  head  up." 

"  If  mamma  knew  this .     How  glad  I  am  she  does 

not  know." 

"  There  begins  our  forest,  Fraulein,"  said  Gottlieb, 
pointing  with  his  whip  to  the  wealth  of  wood  foliage  in 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  23 

front  of  us,  "  and  see,  over  there,  the  cupola  among  the 
trees?  That  is  the  mausoleum.  Our  master  has  lain 
therein  fourteen  years."  He  turned  around  to  me  with 
a  simple-hearted,  compassionate,  little  nod  of  his  head. 
"Yes,  yes;  if  he  were  alive " 

"  You  will  be  doing  a  great  deal  better  if  you  drive 
faster,  than  giving  the  Fraulein  information  about  the 
country,"  broke  in  my  neighbor,  with  a  sharp  voice.  "If 
I  get  home  too  late  with  the  things,  I  shall  say  that  your 
dawdling  was  the  cause." 

The  old  man  flushed  dark  red. 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Anna,"  said  he,  with  emphasis,  and 
turned  entirely  around  to  her,  "  you  are  talking  to  me, 
to  the  old  coachman,  Gottlieb,  who  gave  satisfaction 
for  twenty  long  years  to  his  blessed  master.  I  allow  no 
human  creature  to  give  me  any  commands  when  on  my 
coachman's  seat;  and  if  I  have  the  worst  carriage  that 
stands  in  the  coach-house,  and  the  oldest  horses  there 
are  to  draw  it,  I  am  the  same  that  I  always  was,  and  I 
am  not  under  your  orders.  You  know  what  I  mean.  I 
was  sent  to  fetch  the  young  lady  here.  You  took  the 
opportunity  to  go  with  me,  and  to  come  back  with  me  to 
the  house  again — and  that's  all  there  is  to  it!" 

"  I  will  tell  my  mistress  what  you  have  said,"  retorted 
the  waiting-maid,  angrily. 

The  old  man  did  not  answer. 

"  And  my  mistress  will  tell  the  master  how  you  obey 
her  commands." 

"  That  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  he  murmured. 

"  I  beg  you  to  drive  a  little  faster,  Gottlieb,"  said  I 
now,  for  every  moment  in  the  coach  with  my  pert  neigh- 
bor seemed  an  eternity. 

"Very  well,  gracious  FrUulein,"  he  replied,  and  urged 
on  the  horses. 


24  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

We  were  already  in  the  park,  and  the  cool  breeze  in 
the  shady  woods  blew  refreshingly  on  my  burning  eyes. 
My  heart  was  beating  painfully,  however,  from  anger 
and  sorrow.  How  uncomfortable,  how  humiliating  it 
was  to  me  to  feel 

My  glance  flew  along  the  road  ahead  of  us;  any 
moment  would  the  cloister  come  in  sight  in  which  I 
must  now  live.  If  I  had  been  going  to  a  real  cloister 
I  could  not  have  felt  more  fear  than  at  that  moment. 

A  plow-boy  was  coming  toward  us.  As  he  came  near 
I  could  understand  the  words: 

Es  thut  die  Fremde  dem  Herzen  nicht  wohl, 
Ich  wlisst'  schon  wohin  ich  wandern  soil. 
Herr  Fater,  Frau  Mutter,  du  Stadtchen  im  Thai, 
Ich  griiss  Euch,  ich  griiss  viel  tausand  Mai. 

Mein  MSdchen,  du  brauchst  zu  grEmen  Dich  nicht, 
Dem  Fremdling  bringst  Niemand  ein  freundlich  Gesicht — 
Fremd  ist  er  und  wird's  in  der  Fremde  stets  sein ; 
O  Heimath,  O  Heimath,  du  Sehnsucht  mein! 

He  pulled  off  his  cap  to  me  as  we  passed  him.  He 
was  so  young — could  he  really  know  what  homesickness 
meant?  I  looked  after  him  as  long  as  he  was  in  sight, 
until  Gottlieb's  voice  made  me  turn  my  head  back  again. 

"  There  is  the  cloister,"  said  he,  pointing  to  high- 
pointed  gable  roofs  that  rose  above  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
"  and  below  you  can  see  the  villa." 

The  villa? — a  throng  of  questions  rose  to  my  lips.  I 
knew  so  little  of  the  persons  with  whom  I  was  to  live; 
Christiana  had  told  me  so  little  of  them.  Only  through 
mamma's  short  intimations  had  I  learned  that  an  aunt 
existed,  and  that  she  had  two  sons  and  two  daughters, 
one  of  whom  was  already  married.  In  whom  could  I 
confide?  To  whom  could  I  turn? 

"  There  will  be  no  rejoicing,  child,  when  you  arrive." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  25 

Those  words  of  Christiana's  rang  in  my  ears  again  and 
again. 

Outwardly  calm,  I  saw,  as  we  drew  near,  the  white  walls 
which  gleamed  out  from  the  foliage  of  the  trees;  another 
bend,  and  there  it  lay  before  me  like  a  wonder  out  of 
fairy-land — that  small,  charming,  almost  miniature  castle. 
The  evening  sun  bathed  it  in  rosy  light,  and  made  the 
marble  statues  on  balcony  and  steps  seem  almost  warm 
with  life.  A  velvety,  green  lawn  spread  itself  before  the 
place,  and  was  dotted  here  and  there  with  beds  of  flowers 
that  shone  out  like  brilliant  jewels,  and  these  surrounded 
a  sandstone  basin,  out  of  which  spouted  a  crystal,  clear 
stream,  whose  splashing  alone  broke  the  deep  stillness. 

Charmed,  I  gazed  at  the  beautiful  building  that  stood 
there  so  airy  and  light,  with  its  many  balconies  and  its 
columned  vestibule.  Lovely  climbing  roses  ran  luxuri- 
ously around  the  delicate  balustrade  of  the  veranda,  and 
hundreds  of  the  pale-pink  blooms  sent  their  fragrance 
toward  me. 

It  was  like  this  that  Christiana  had  described  to  me 
the  castles  in  the  fairy-stories  that  amused  my  child- 
hood. If  George  could  only  see  it George!  that 

one  word  brought  me  back  to  stern  reality. 

The  carriage  stopped,  my  neighbor  sprang  nimbly  out 
and  vanished,  with  her  box,  behind  the  high,  glass  door. 
The  old  man  glanced,  listening,  after  her. 

"  Remain  where  you  are,  FrSulein,"  said  he,  "  some- 
body will  come  directly." 

I  waited  a  moment;  everything  was  quiet,  no  one 
came.  Resolute,  I  got  out. 

"  I  will  care  for  the  luggage,"  called  the  old  man  after 
me.  Then  I  heard  the  carriage  roll  away. 

I  stood  now  alone  in  the  strange  house,  and  dared  not 
go  forward.  No  sound  came  to  my  ear.  I  felt  like  turning 


26  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

and  running  after  old  Gottlieb  and  entreating  him: 
"  Drive  me  away  again,  as  far  as  your  tired  horses  can 
go — only  away  from  this  house,  where  no  one  welcomes 
me,  where  there  is  no  loving  word  for  the  fatherless  and 
motherless  girl." 

So  I  stood,  motionless,  in  the  middle  of  the  steps.  My 
heart  beat,  until  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  hear  it.  In  my 
timidity  I  dared  not  go  farther;  the  tears  flooded  my  eyes. 

Hark!  was  that  not  a  step,  the  rustle  of  a  dress?  I 
held  my  breath;  yes,  I  could  see  a  white  garment  through 
the  delicate  carving  of  the  baluster,  and  a  slender  girl's 
figure  flew  up  the  stairs  that  led  to  the  upper  floor;  a 
head  of  golden  hair  shone  a  moment  down  to  me,  then 
it  vanished;  I  heard  a  door  open  and  shut,  then  all  was 
still. 

Involuntarily  I  followed  her;  it  was  surely  my  cousin; 
perhaps  the  maid  had  not A  step  sounded — a  serv- 
ant carrying  a  salver,  with  seltzer  water  and  sugar, 
appeared. 

"Please  inform  Frau  von  Demphoff  her  niece  has 
come,  and  wishes  to  speak  with  her,"  said  I  to  him. 

"  Very  well,"  he  replied,  as  he  stepped  down  the  hall, 
after  throwing  me  a  surprised  glance,  and  opened  a 
door.  "  Be  kind  enough  to  enter;  I  will  go  directly  to 
My  Lady." 

Therewith  he  vanished  behind  a  thick,  violet-blue  cur- 
tain into  the  room. 

"  My  Lady  begs  you  to  enter,"  he  said,  holding  back 
the  portieres  much  too  high  for  my  little  person,  and  I 
walked  in.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  at  a 
writing-desk,  sat  a  woman  with  her  back  to  me,  busily 
writing. 

"  In  a  moment,"  said  a  sharp  voice,  as  if  apologizing. 
"  I  am  almost  done;  sit  down — sit  down,  meanwhile." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  27 

I  had  plenty  of  time  to  examine  the  elegant  appoint- 
ments of  the  room,  portieres,  furniture,  hangings,  carpet — 
all  were  of  a  violet-blue  color.  Over  the  writing-table 
hung  a  large  picture,  in  an  oval  frame,  of  a  young  man — 
a  handsome  face,  with  dark  eyes  and  somewhat  haughty, 
full  lips,  that  were  ornamented  by  a  bold  mustache.  He 
wore  a  cuirassier  uniform.  The  white  coat  was  very 
becoming  to  his  fresh  complexion. 

Over  an  arm-chair,  that  stood  beside  a  group  of 
exotic  plants — hung  the  companion  to  that  picture.  It 
was  a  rare  piece  of  art  work,  the  marvelously-painted 
cream-white  satin  of  the  dress,  the  fine  lace,  and  the 
wealth  of  golden  hair;  the  beautifully-formed  shoulders 
rose  out  of  the  creamy  stuff,  and  the  neck  carried  an 
ideally-formed  head,  that  was  turned  in  half-profile  to 
the  beholder;  a  fine,  straight  nose  and  large,  dark  eyes, 
and  around  the  rosy  mouth  a  child-like,  innocent  smile — 
all  made  a  very  lovely  picture. 

The  writer  made  a  movement.  She  pushed  back  her 
chair  and  rose.  I  went  toward  her  instinctively  some 
steps  before  I  dared  to  raise  my  eyes;  and  when  I  did,  I 
saw  a  pair  of  cold,  gray  eyes,  that  looked  at  me  with  a 
strange,  indifferent  glance.  By  nature  I  do  not  weep 
easily,  and  to  be  pitied  by  anyone  was  always  very 
annoying  to  me,  painfully  so;  but  the  last  few  weeks  it 
seemed,  as  Christiana  expressed  it,  as  if  I  were  made  of 
water,  and  now  the  great  drops  hung  heavy  upon  my  eye- 
lids, but  in  a  trice  I  had  wiped  them  away;  no  new  ones 
dared  to  come.  I  would  not  cry  before  those  cold  eyes, 
not  for  the  world.  They  looked  as  if  they  would  not 
know  what  tears  meant,  would  not  know  that  they  were 
fountains  which  gushed  forth  out  of  deepest  pain. 

No,  I  could  not  show  her  how  unhappy  I  was,  how  I 
mourned  for  my  mother,  what  a  longing  I  had  for 


28  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

George,  and  my  sickening  feeling  of  abandonment.  I 
bit  my  lips,  and  raised  my  eyes  gloomily  to  her. 

"When  did  you  come?"  she  asked,  pointing  to  a  chair 
and  sitting  down  herself.  She  sat  very  erect  with  her 
hands  lightly  folded  in  her  lap. 

"More  than  half  an  hour  ago,"  I  replied. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  me  directly?" 

"Because  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  me,  and 
I  did  not  know  where  to  go,"  was  on  my  tongue's  end, 
but  I  kept  it  back  with  commendable  restraint,  and  before 
I  could  frame  my  answer  a  door  hastily  opened,  the 
blue  curtain  was  flung  aside,  and  a  young  woman  came 
in  the  room.  I  recognized  at  the  first  glance  the 
original  of  the  picture  over  the  arm-chair,  only  at  this 
moment  the  beautiful  neck  was  covered  with  a  lace- 
trimmed  combing-cloth,  and  a  richly  embroidered  white 
robe  trailed  behind  her. 

"Mammachen!"  said  a  soft,  languid,  caressing  voice — 
and  on  the  pretty  pink-and-white  face  was  an  unmistak- 
able pout — "  I  am  sorry  to  complain  to  you,  but  Gottlieb 
has  been  very  rude  to  Anna  and  she  desires  satisfaction. 
Will  you  not  say  to  Gerhardt  that  he  must  rectify  it?" 

By  this  time  she  was  across  the  room,  and  stood  in 
front  of  her  mother  with  her  back  turned  to  me.  In  the 
puffs  of  her  blonde  hair  glistened,  here  and  there,  a  bril- 
liant, and  two  dark  roses  were  carelessly  placed  on  the 
coiffure. 

"  I  am  sure,  dear  mamma,  you  do  not  approve  of  this 
rude  fellow's  insolence.  Unfortunately,  Gerhardt  can 
never  be  persuaded  to  say  an  angry  word  to  the  old 
sneak.  Even  Melanie  Stelten  is  indignant.  You  have 
no  idea  how  impudent  he  was.  Moreover,  that  child 

should  be  here.  Have  you "  The  next  moment  the 

beautiful  face  had  turned  to  me. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  29 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  slowly,  and  the  large  almond-shaped 
eyes  looked  at  me  with  a  cool,  critical  stare.  "She 
hasn't  a  feature  of  the  Demphoffs;  doesn't  she  look  as 
if  she  came  straight  from  the  gypsies,  mamma?"  she 
asked,  reaching  her  hand  to  me,  but  scarcely  touching 
mine.  "Evidently,  you  must  resemble  your  mother, 
or  do  you  not?  I  believe  she  had  a  dangerous 
beauty " 

"  Fernande,  do  you  know  where  Charlotte  is?"  hastily 
interrupted  the  old  lady.  "I  have  not  seen  her  since 
this  noon.  Heaven  knows  where  she  has  hid  herself." 

"  Here  I  am,"  laughed  a  fresh,  young  voice,  and  the 
slender  girl's  figure  that  I  had  seen  flying  through  the 
vestibule  stood  in  the  room.  The  sunniest  smile  lay  on 
the  girlish  face;  two  long,  yellow,  glittering  braids  hung 
down  her  back.  One  could  see  the  two  were  sisters 
from  the  strong  resemblance,  and  yet  no  two  could 
be  more  unlike  in  manner  than  they. 

"  O,  the  little  cousin!"  she  cried,  still  laughing  and 
hurrying  to  me;  "welcome,  Lena;  that  is  the  name, 
isn't  it?"  she  continued,  stretching  out  both  hands  to  me. 
"  You  see,  I  remembered  your  name  from  your  guard- 
ian's letter;  and  how  little  you  are!"  She  laughed  and 
shook  her  head  until  the  braids  flew. 

"  Do  not  be  childish,"  rebuked  her  mother,  and  stood 
up.  "  Go  now  and  make  your  toilet;  Melanie  von 
Stelten  is  already  here,  and  it  is  high  time." 

"  I  am  not  going,  mamma,"  declared  the  girl, 
emphatically,  as  she  turned  from  me. 

"  But,  Lotta,"  cried  the  sister,  "  you  are  not  in  earnest, 
dear?" 

"  Yes,"  she  persisted,  "  I  have  no  desire,  this  lovely 
summer  evening,  to  shut  myself  up  in  a  stiflingly  hot 
hall  and  dance  in  the  intolerable  heat.  Gerhardt  is 


30  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

of  my  opinion.  I  had  rather  go  for  an  hour's  walk  in 
the  park;  it  will  be  pleasanter  and  healthier." 

"You  see,  mamma,"  pettishly  said  the  young  woman, 
"  Gerhardt  is  of  her  opinion.  Whenever  it  concerns 
carrying  out  her  crazy  freaks,  she  appeals  to  him.  I 
think,"  she  turned  to  the  young  girl,  "  you  have  strolled 
enough  in  the  park  to-day,  and " 

"And  I  forbid  these  excursions,  once  for  all,  Char- 
lotte, now  that  Robert  is  here.  It  is  not  at  all  proper 
for  you;  you  are  no  longer  a  child,"  commanded  Frau 
von  Demphoff.  "Were  you  with  Aunt  Edith  to-day?" 
she  asked,  imperatively,  as  the  young  face  before  her 
flushed  and  the  pretty  head  drooped. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  firmly,  again  raising  her  head, 
"  to-day,  as  every  day.  I  see  no  reason  to  remain  away 
because  Robert  came.  We  have  played  together  as 
children,  and  besides,  we  are  cousins;  moreover,  Robert 
is  no  longer  here." 

She  turned  hastily  and  left  the  room. 

"  You  see  how  it  is.  What  can  we  do?"  complained 
the  sister.  "  Gerhardt  is  always  on  her  side,  and  we  are 
powerless,  mamma!" 

She  stopped  suddenly;  from  the  adjoining  room  came 
the  sound  of  a  man's  voice — soft  and  appeasing,  as  one 
speaks  to  a  child. 

"You  will  accompany  them,  little  one,  if  mamma  is 
so  desirous  you  should,  won't  you?"  The  young  woman 
stepped  into  the  room  where  her  brother  was. 

"I  am  very  glad,  dear  Gerhardt,"  we  heard  her  say, 
"that  you  have  so  decided.  She  had  set  up  her  irritat- 
ing obstinacy  again  to-day,  although  she  knew  very  well 
that  they  gave  the  tiresome  party  on  her  account.  Do 
go,  Lotta,  and  make  your  toilet,"  she  begged. 

"  Your  boy  is  in  great  delight,  Fernande,"said  the  man's 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  31 

voice  again;  "  I  just  saw  him  in  the  stable;  he  sat,  shouting 
for  joy,  on  the  back  of  one  of  Gottlieb's  old  horses." 

"  That  is  absurd;  it  is  revolting!  Gerhardt,  I  hope  you 
took  him  off  immediately.  Mademoiselle  is  a  very  un- 
trustworthy person  if  she  would  allow  him  to  be  put  on 
the  horse.  I  suppose  if  he  should  fall  off,  and  come 
under  the  horse's  hoofs,  it  would  be  an  unfortunate  acci- 
dent! No  one  would  hold  himself  responsible!" 

She  spoke  excitedly,  and  her  voice  had  become 
somewhat  sharp. 

"  No,  I  did  not  take  him  down;  Gottlieb  held  him  with 
both  hands,  as  he  held  you,  when  you  were  a  child, 
Fernande.  I  remember  it  very  distinctly,"  he  said, 
quietly. 

"  I  will  not  permit  it;  he  shall  not  have  anything  to  do 
with  my  child.  I  distrust  him.  He  is  constantly  doing 
something  to  irritate  me.  He  was  extremely  rude  to 
Anna  to-day,  and  declared  to  her  he  didn't  care  whether 
I  received  my  dress  at  the  right  time  or  not,  and  posi- 
tively refused  to  drive  any  faster." 

"  I  will  inquire  into  the  matter,  Terra,"  he  replied, 
calmly. 

"  It  isn't  necessary,  as  long  as  I  have  told  you,"  she 
pouted;  "besides,  Gerhardt,"  she  continued,  after  a 
moment's  thought,  "  we  have  a  witness  here."  The  next 
moment  the  beautiful  face  of  the  young  woman  appeared 
between  the  portieres,  and  looked  over  to  me,  who.  still 
sat  in  hat  and  wrap,  in  the  same  place  as  when  I  entered. 
My  aunt  had  already  begun  writing  again,  and  apparently 
had  not  noticed  the  talk  between  her  children. 

"  Cousin,"  the  voice  was  really  sharp  now,  "  was  not 
Gottlieb  very  impudent  to  my  Anna?" 

I  do  not  know  how  it  came;  perhaps  there  lay  too  much 
bold  challenge  in  her  glance,  to  deny  her  question  if  I 


32  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

dared,  or  perhaps  the  abhorrence  of  the  lie  entirely  over- 
came my  shyness;  at  any  rate,  I  answered  "  No"  in  no 
uncertain  tone.  "  Gottlieb  was  very  much  provoked  with 
her,  for  we  had  to  wait  a  frightfully  long  time  for  her, 
and " 

The  blonde  head  vanished,  and  directly  after  a  silvery 
laugh  struck  my  ear.  Lotta  was  evidently  much  amused 
at  my  frankness. 

"What?  Did  Fraulein  von  Demphoff  come  with  your 
maid?"  questioned  Cousin  Gerhardt's  deep  voice.  "  How 
did  that  happen,  Ferra?  You  promised  to  bring  her  your- 
self." 

"  Heavens,  Gerhardt — yes — I — I  would  have  done  it 
— but  afterward  I  remembered  that  I  promised  Melanie 
von  Stelten  to  take  her  for  a  drive;  so  I  went  to  the 
cloister  and  told  Gottlieb  to  go,  and  then  Anna  could 
go  with  him  at  the  same  time;  I Do  not  be  angry,  Ger- 
hardt," she  said,  caressingly;  "the  child  has  arrived  safe 
and  sound." 

He  did  not  answer;  but  at  that  moment  a  man's  form 
came  between  the  blue  curtains.  I  almost  cried  aloud 
from  astonishment  and  terror.  This  tall,  slender  man 
so  resembled  my  father,  feature  for  feature,  as  he  so 
clearly  lived  in  my  remembrance.  The  same  wealth  of 
blonde  hair  and  beard,  the  same  clear  eyes  that  were 
there  searching  for  me,  only  there  was  a  slight  pallor  on 
the  face,  which  denoted  imperfect  health,  and  I  noticed 
that  he  stooped  somewhat  as  he  walked. 

"  Welcome  to  Wendhusen,"  he  said,  coming  over  to 
me,  and  he  was  evidently  surprised;  "but  I  see  you  are  still 
in  hat  and  mantle.  Pardon  the  ladies  who  have  no  thought 
for  anything  but  the  reunion  to-day.  Without  doubt 
mamma  has  already  informed  you  that  she  has  made 
arrangements  for  you  to  live  with  Aunt  Edith,  tempo- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  33 

rarily.     The  life  here  in  the  house  might  be  painful  to 
you,  while  your  grief  is  so  recent." 

I  looked  anxiously  into  his  face.  Where  were  they 
going  to  take  me? 

My  aunt  turned  around.  "  I  had  not  yet  told  her, 
Gerhardt,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  Ferra  came  with  her  griev- 
ance, and  then  the  letter — I  am  glad  you  have  taken  the 
matter  in  your  own  hands.  You  must  be  tired,  child,"  she 
said,  turning  to  me,  a  cold  friendliness  in  her  manner. 
"  It  is  better  for  you  to  go  over  at  once." 

"  Since  when  was  this  settled?"  asked  Fernande, 
coming  suddenly  into  the  room.  "Yesterday  you  were 
very  decided  in  your  views  to  the  contrary  on  this  point." 

"Mamma  kindly  adopted  my  proposition  early  this 
morning,"  replied  Gerhardt,  pleasantly,  but  not  without 
irony.  "  A  young  woman  in  mourning  would  be  very 
annoying  to  you,  Ferra,  quite  setting  aside  her  own 
feelings." 

"A  young  woman!"  laughed  the  beautiful  woman. 
"  Why,  Gerhardt,  where  are  your  eyes?  Look  at  the  little 
one;  she  is  a  child,  a  veritable  child,  and  under-sized  at 
that.  Pooh,  what  eyes  she  can  make,  when  she  looks  up 
from  under  her  brows  in  that  way!  Aunt  Edith  will  be 
delighted  to  have  such  an  acquisition." 

"All  the  better  for  her,  if  she  is  still  a  child,"  he 
replied,  quietly,  without  looking  at  me,  during  this  per- 
sonal description.  "  I  hope,  above  all  things,  that  Aunt 
Edith  may  find  enjoyment  in  her  young  companion." 

"  You  are  right,  dear  Gerhardt,"  she  said,  in  a  changed 
voice,  in  which  one  could  not  recognize  the  least  impa- 
tience; "  take  her  to  Aunt  Edith,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned; if  she  wishes  also  a  dozen  cats,  she  is  welcome 
to  them.  Moreover,  I  have  no  more  time.  You  will 
accompany  me  to  D — ?  Melanie  is  going  with  me." 
a 


84  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sister,  but  I  do  not  feel  equal  to-day 
to  the  fatigue  of  a  ball " 

"You  are  not  well,  Gerhardt?"  she  interrupted  him, 
and  laid  her  delicate  hands  on  his  shoulders,  looking  at 
him  with  the  most  tender  anxiety.  "  Dearest,  best  Ger- 
hardt, why  did  you  not  tell  me  so  directly?  I  assuredly 
should  not  have  permitted  a  word  of  the  reunion — 
naturally,  I  should  have  remained  at  home." 

He  turned  from  her  impatiently.  "  I  pray  you,  Ferra,  to 
desist,"  he  said.  "  You  know  this  excessive  sympathy  for 
such  trifling  matters  is  decidedly  unpleasant  to  me." 

"  Trifling,  Gerhardt?"  she  asked,  tenderly.  "  No,  I  do 
not  look  at  it  so.  How  ill  you  look,  dearest  Gerhardt! 
Not  another  word  to  me  of  the  reunion.  Mamma  may 
take  Lotta  and  Melanie;  I  shall  remain  with  you." 

"  I  prefer  you  would  not,  however,"  he  said,  coldly; "  and 
as  a  proof  that  I  am  not  such  an  object  of  suffering 
and  sympathy  as  you  seem  to  think,  I  will  tell  you  that 
I  have  an  appointment  with  the  Inspector,  to  look  over 
his  accounts;  consequently,  you  would  only  disturb  me; 
therefore,  go  and  amuse  yourself,  if  you  can.  Before 
anything  else,  however,"  he  stepped  to  the  door  and 
pulled  the  bell-cord,  "  respect  must  be  paid  to  Fraulein 
von  Demphoff." 

"  Mother,"  he  turned  to  the  old  lady,  who  was  still 
writing,  "  have  you  any  suggestions  in  regard  to  our 
guest?" 

"  No,"  she  replied,  shortly,  without  taking  the  trouble 
to  turn  around. 

"  Have  you  informed  Joachim — I  take  it  you  are  writ- 
ing to  him — that  the  price  of  the  bloodhound  is  consid- 
erably beyond  my  consideration?" 

"  No,"  she  answered,  even  more  shortly,  "  I  will  buy 
the  hound  of  him." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  35 

"  You,  mamma?"  He  looked  over  to  her,  evidently 
unpleasantly  surprised.  "  Very  well,"  he  continued,  "  he 
was  too  high-priced  for  me." 

At  this  moment  a  neat  house-maid  entered. 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness,"  he  turned  to  me  and 
said  kindly,  -'to  follow  the  maid?  She  will  see  that  you 
get  the  rest  and  refreshment  that  you  must  surely  need." 

I  got  up  and  said  adieu  to  my  aunt. 

"  Adieu,  my  child,"  she  replied,  turning  around  and  giv- 
ing me  a  cursory  glance. 

I  turned  to  take  leave  of  my  cousin,  Ferra,  and  found 
she  was  no  longer  present.  Gerhardt  accompanied  me 
to  the  stairs. 

"  I  will  come  to-morrow,  and  learn  how  you  have 
rested,  Cousin,"  said  he,  pleasantly;  "  in  advance  I  will 
wish  you  a  refreshing  sleep." 

It  was  after  sunset.  The  twilight  lay  over  the  earth, 
when  I  followed  my  leader  through  the  carpeted  corri- 
dor and  down  the  marble  steps.  The  cool  evening  air 
was  very  acceptable  on  my  heated  face.  The  road  through 
the  park,  into  which  we  turned,  lay  in  deep  shadow.  I 
turned  once  again  my  head  to  look  back  at  the  fairy- 
house  I  had  just  left.  Its  white  walls  shone  out  from 
the  dark  background  of  the  trees,  and  its  contour  stood 
out  sharply  on  the  evening  sky.  The  spray  of  the  foun- 
tain splashed  softly  in  the  granite  basin,  and  made  the 
broad,  fan-shaped  leaves  of  the  surrounding  plants  sway 
and  nod,  and  out  of  the  luxuriant  thickets  gleamed  the 
marble  statues  in  dazzling  whiteness.  How  lovely  it  was 
here!  and  yet  if  I  could  only  have  run  away — away  as 
far  as  my  tired  feet  could  carry  me — to  George,  to  Chris- 
tiana— to  anybody  that  would  look  at  me  with  kind  eyes; 
that  would  affectionately  call  me  "Lena,  dear  Lena," 
What  had  I  in  common  with  these  people?  They  would 


36  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

never  love  me;  I  was  only  a  burden  to  them  that  they 
would  endeavor  to  make  as  easy  as  possible.  Heaven- 
wide  was  the  distance  between  us;  disdain,  raillery,  and 
cold,  business-like  friendship,  that  was  what  would  be 
given  out  to  the  stranger  child.  And  now,  where  were 
they  taking  me?  Who  was  this  Aunt  Edith,  and  what 
did  the  beautiful  young  woman  mean,  with  her  allusion 
to  the  cats?  Mechanically,  I  followed  the  girl  through 
the  intricate  way. 

"  It  is  not  far  to  the  cloister,"  she  began  in  a  friendly 
tone;  "you  can  already  hear  the  singing." 

I  listened.  Was  I  going  then  into  a  real  cloister?  But 
no;  that  was  no  holy  anthem.  A  quite  familiar  folk-song 
came  to  my  ear: 

"  Oh,  wert  thou  in  the  cold  blast." 

"  Where  is  the  singing?"  I  asked. 

"  In  the  servants'  quarters,  under  the  linden,"  was  the 
answer.  "  It  is  the  girls  and  boys;  it  is  after  working 
hours — see,  there  is  the  cloister;  and  behind  the  lighted 
windows  above,  lives  your  Aunt  Edith." 

There  it  lay  before  me,  in  the  dusk  of  the  gathering 
night,  awesome,  massive,  and  gloomy — that  long,  irregu- 
lar building,  that  was  now  to  be  my  home.  An  iron  gate 
separated  me  from  the  front  garden  that  bounded  the 
wings  of  the  cloister,  which  were  connected  with  it  at 
right  angles.  The  double  gate  was  thrown  open;  I  saw 
the  girl  step  into  the  drive-way,  and  heard  her  feet  on 
the  gravel  on  the  other  side  of  the  gate. 

My  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  gloomy  structure.  The 
lower  windows  were  barred  with  iron,  like  a  prison,  and 
the  wing  at  my  left,  confined  by  a  high  wall,  had  closed 
shutters.  The  whole  made  an  unspeakably  uncomfort- 
able impression  upon  me. 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  37 

I  had  hung  behind;  the  maid  came  back  for  me;  hesi- 
tating, I  stepped  over  the  carriage-drive  and  through  the 
gate;  we  walked  around  a  grass-plat  enclosed  with  iron 
chains;  in  the  middle  stood  a  sandstone  urn  filled  with 
trailing  vines;  a  large,  iron-bound  door  that  opened  into 
the  right  wing,  led  direct  to  a  broad,  massive,  wooden 
stairway.  Cool,  moist  air  enveloped  me;  I  shuddered 
and  drew  back  before  the  uncanny  darkness  that  lay 
under  the  arched  hall;  involuntarily,  I  thought  of  ghostly 
apparitions,  that  unheard  would  come  toward  the 
stranger,  angry  at  the  intrusion  into  the  consecrated 
rooms;  then  I  heard  tripping  little  steps  behind  me,  and 
children's  voices,  and  little  heads  peered  behind  the 
house  door. 

"Cats'  aunt!  Cats'  aunt!  "  they  called  to  one  another, 
and  a  high-pitched,  piping  little  voice  sang: 

"  Dacht"  es  fiel  'ne  Katz  ;von  der  Bank, 
Ein  Kind  nur  war  es,  Gott  sei  Dank." 

Shrilly  it  rang  back  from  the  high,  stonewalls;  I  stood 
where  I  was;  the  girl,  however,  turned,  and  as  swift  as  a 
weasel,  rushed  back  down  the  stairs  and,  fortunately, 
seized  one  of  the  little  screamers  by  the  jacket. 

"Are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself?  You  naughty 
child!  "  she  cried,  shaking  the  little  boy  back  and  forth. 
"  You  will  make  sport  of  the  good  woman  that  every 
Christmas  remembers  you;  that  gives  you  clothes  and 
school-money;  you  ungrateful  creature!  " 

The  young  one  broke  out  into  woeful  tears. 

"Jette,  Jette,  let  him  go!"  called  down  a  soft,  sweet 
voice;  and  turning  around,  I  saw,  close  before  me,  the 
figure  of  a  lady,  dressed  in  black;  her  white  cap  and 
pale  face  showed  clearly  in  the  dusk,  and  two  small 
hands  were  stretched  toward  me. 


38  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  Welcome,  my  child!  "  she  said,  softly.  I  felt  a  kiss  on 
my  forehead,  and  a  tear,  another,  and  yet  another,  and 
my  head  lay  on  her  breast.  "  My  poor  little  girl,"  she 
whispered;  "God  bless  the  hour  that  brought  you  to 
me! — but  now,  come,  come,  that  I  may  see  you  in  the 
light,"  breaking  off  from  the  solemn  tone  in  which  she 
had  first  spoken. 

"  Jette,  let  the  little  fellow  go,  he  did  not  know  what 
he  was  doing;  he  only  did  as  the  others.  Prepare  the  tea; 
my  little  guest  must  be  both  hungry  and  thirsty." 

By  her  side  I  walked  down  a  long  corridor  which  was 
almost  dark,  and  then  I  stepped  into  a  large,  lighted 
room,  with  old-fashioned  furniture  and  hangings.  A 
lamp  burned  on  the  snow-white  covered  table;  and  now 
a  pair  of  gentle  eyes  were  regarding  me,  so  dear,  so 
good,  that  I  felt  as  if  I  had  suddenly  come  from  snow 
and  ice  into  warm  sunshine.  Involuntarily,  I  flung  my 
arms  around  the  neck  of  this  stranger  and  wept  all  the 
anxiety  of  the  last  hour  away. 

She  let  me  have  the  comfort  of  my  tears  a  few 
moments,  then  she  raised  my  head. 

"Now,  that  is  enough,  child,"  she  said,  soothingly; 
"  come,  let  me  look  at  you — you  are  exactly  such  a  Lili- 
putian  as  your  mother  was,  scarcely  three  feet  high! 
Shame,  child!  hurry  up  and  grow,  or  you  will  never  be 
able  to  look  anyone  in  the  face." 

I  laughed. 

"  Ah,  yes,  Cousin  Fernande  even  called  me  a  child," 
and  it  almost  seemed  as  if  my  old  merriment  was  coming 
back  again,  that  had  flown  away  in  these  last  weeks  of 
sorrow  and  care. 

Then,  as  I  sat  down  to  the  table  and  consumed,  with 
healthy  appetite,  the  dainty  slices  of  buttered  bread  before 
me,  and  drank  the  fresh  milk,  I  shouted  aloud,  as  a 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  39 

snow-white  cat,  with  a  light  rustle,  sprang  upon  my 
shoulder,  and  rubbed  her  soft  fur  lovingly  against  my 
face. 

"Well,  well,"  cried  joyfully  the  old  lady,  "Minkais 
making  friends  with  you  directly.  She  is  very  shy,  usu- 
ally; that  delights  me!  that  quite  delights  me!"  she 
repeated,  and  stroked  the  glossy  fur  of  her  pet. 

I  remembered  suddenly  that  Frau  von  Demphoff  had 
spoken  of  a  dozen  cats,  and  then  the  verse: 
"  Dacht'  es  fiel  'ne  Katz  'von  der  Bank, 
Ein  Kind  nur  war  es,  Gott  sei  Dank." 

Involuntarily,  I  looked  around  the  room.  Were  there 
any  more?  Surely,  there,  out  of  the  dark  corner 
by  the  fire-place,  shone  two  greenish  cat's  eyes;  in  the 
easy-chair  by  the  window  stretched  itself  comfortably 
a  black-and-white  Tabby,  and  there,  behind  in  the  cor- 
ner, sat,  cowering  together,  two  spotted  kittens.  Alarmed, 
I  laid  down  my  knife  and  fork  on  my  plate,  and  raised 
my  glance  questioningly  to  the  fine,  old  face  opposite 
me. 

"  Do  you  not  like  the  cats,  child?"  she  asked,  and 
looked  almost  grieved. 

"  O,  yes,  but  so — " 

"  So  many,  you  think?"  she  finished.  "  Never  mind, 
child,  you  will  get  used  to  them,  and  willingly,  when  I 
tell  you  that  for  long  years  the  cats  were  my  only  com- 
panions; and  they  have  never  troubled  nor  angered  me," 
she  concluded,  and  glanced,  smiling  sadly,  over  to  Minka, 
who  had  made  herself  comfortable  on  my  shoulder. 

"  O,  no,  I  like  cats  very  much,"  I  hastened  to  say, 
although  a  little  fear  still  remained. 

"Truly?  That  pleases  me,"  she  cried.  "You  will  see 
that  they  are  wise  as  human  beings,  and  besides — "  She 
stopped  and  looked  kindly  at  me.  "Now,  little  one, 
come  to  me  on  the  sofa,"  she  begged,  "and  if  you  are 


40  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

not  tired,  tell  me  of  your  mother.  Have  you  not  a  little 
brother?" 

"O,  yes!"  I  quickly  answered,  and  nearly  wept  again 
for  longing  and  thought  of  him. 

But  the  dear  old  lady  drew  my  head  down,  and  com- 
forted me  in  such  a  sweet  way.  She  talked  to  me  of  the 
future,  and  that  at  my  years  all  sorrow  was  but  a  dark 
cloud  that  would  pass  over,  and  only  make  the  sunshine 
that  follows  more  appreciated.  She  talked  so  consol- 
ingly and  gently,  that  I  was  more  at  peace  than  for  many, 
many  weeks. 

"  Who  are  you,  really,  Auntie?"  I  inquired,  half  asleep, 
as  she  tucked  me  up,  with  loving  hand,  under  the  faded 
green-silk  quilt  in  the  great  canopy  bed,  in  which  my 
little  person  was  almost  lost.  She  had  come  with  me  to 
my  room — which  was  next  her  own — with  true  motherly, 
almost  ceremonious,  solicitude.  I  was  very  tired,  and 
saw  with  only  half-open  eyes  how  the  slender  figure 
went  noiselessly  about  the  dimly-lighted  room. 

"  You  know  already,"  she  said,  softly,  laughing. 
" '  Cats'  Aunt'  the  children  call  me.  You  shall  call 
me  Aunt  Edith — will  you?  Over  in  the  villa  they  call 

me  '  Aunt'  only.     My  name  is  Edith "     She  said  a 

name  that  I  did  not  clearly  understand.     "  And  am  a 

real ,  but  later  about  that.    You  do  not  understand, 

so  sleep,  Lena,  and  dream  something  beautiful."  She 
pressed  a  kiss  on  my  forehead.  "  Did  you  never  hear 
your  mother  speak  of  me?"  she  questioned. 

I  sleepily  shook  my  head;  my  eyes  were  closed  for 
very  weariness. 

"Why  should  she!"  she  said,  low,  as  to  herself,  "she 
was  so  young  at  that  time — " 

Then  I  heard  no  more  of  what  she  said.  Sleep  had 
come  and  laid  itself  heavily  on  my  forehead,  till  sud- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  41 

denly,  with  a  loud  "George!"  I  sprang  up,  frightened; 
I  had  seen  him  so  plainly  stretch  his  hands  toward  me, 
and  he  looked  so  ill  and  wretched — • 

"  Sleep,  Lena,  do  not  fear  for  George,"  came  the  low, 
sweet  voice  of  Aunt  Edith.  "  Do  you  believe  no  longer 
in  the  angel  that  each  child  has?  Think  of  that,  dear, 
and  you  will  be  comforted." 

"  True,  dear  Auntie,"  I  said,  with  a  little  sob,  already 
half  in  the  sleep  that  soon  sweet  and  sure  rested  on  my 
tired  eyes. 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning  I  could  not  think  for  a 
moment  where  I  was.  Above  my  head  was  a  canopy  of 
heavy  green-silk  stuff,  and  stiff,  gilt  fringe  hung  full 
around  it;  the  faded — here  and  there  yellow-streaked — 
curtains  of  my  bed  were  thrown  back,  and  my  sleepy 
glance  took  in  a  high  room  that  the  morning  sun  had 
filled  with  a  blinding  light. 

A  monster  of  a  chimney,  with  black  marble  facing, 
was  opposite  my  bed;  a  high  mirror  graced  the  wall  over 
it.  This  must  be  very  old,  for  its  immense  surface  was 
joined  in  three  pieces,  and  the  frame  formed  a  narrow, 
but  richly  carved,  gilt  ledge. 

The  furniture  belonged,  without  doubt,  to  different 
periods,  for  near  a  wonderful  inlaid  commode,  with 
rounded  drawers  and  glittering  garnishment,  stood  a 
little  table,  with  fragile  gilt  legs,  that  were  so  marvelously 
twisted  and  curved  that  one  saw  at  a  glance  it  must 
thank  the  frivolous  Rococo  time  for  its  origin. 

The  carpet  showed  in  blue-gray  shades  a  constantly 
repeated  woman's  figure  on  a  dolphin — whose  tail 
ended  in  a  gracefully  curved  arabesque — that  boldly 
swam  through  the  high-crested  waves.  A  broad  flower- 
border  ran  around  the  walls  above  the  floor  and  also 
under  the  ceiling,  which  had  massive  rafters. 


42  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

Evidently  this  house  was  built  to  endure,  for  the 
powerful  walls,  in  which  were  deep  window  niches, 
appeared  to  defy  eternity. 

A  comfortable  feeling  came  over  me  in  that  room 
flooded  with  sunshine.  I  snuggled  my  head  into  the 
snow-white  pillow  and  shut  my  blinking  eyes,  till  a  clear, 
rich  voice  aroused  me  out  of  the  blissful  condition 
between  sleeping  and  waking. 

The  door  into  the  next  room,  that  had  been  closed 
before,  now  stood  wide  open,  and  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
slender  white  figure  and  two  long  braids  that  hung  down 
her  back. 

"  She  is  still  asleep,  Auntie,"  said  the  same  bright,  fresh 
voice;  "  I  was  close  to  her  bed;  she  lies  with  parted  lips 
and  the  black  hair  hangs  over  the  brown,  little  face. 
What  a  strange  little  human  child  to  us,  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  seeing  such  great  blonde  giants.  Come,  Minka, 
my  darling." 

The  white  figure  stooped  and  picked  up  the  cat,  and 
then  suddenly  sat  down  on  the  window  seat.  The  straw 
hat  flew  on  the  nearest  chair,  and  I  recognized  the  rosy 
face  of  my  Cousin  Charlotte,  who  apparently  had  come 
to  pay  her  aunt  a  morning  visit,  and  in  a  very  happy 
frame  of  mind. 

She  dangled  her  feet,  that  were  clad  in  little  open- 
work slippers,  hugged  and  stroked  Minka,  and  mean- 
time trilled  a  melody  with  a  soft,  inexpressibly  sweet 
voice,  like  the  bird  that  sings  in  its  sleep. 

"  Do  not  waken  the  child,  Lottchen,"  admonished  Aunt 
Edith  in  a  low  voice,  and  as  she  spoke,  her  graceful 
figure,  in  the  simple  gray  morning  dress,  came  within  the 
circle  of  my  vision,  and  sat  down  in  the  reclining  chair 
near  Charlotte.  Her  back  was  toward  me,  but  I  had 
a  full  view  of  her  pretty  white  morning  cap. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  43 

Suddenly,  Charlotte  was  still. 

"Auntie,"  she  questioned,  in  a  somewhat  subdued 
voice,  but  still  so  that  I  heard  distinctly  each  word, 
"  Auntie,  is  it  true  what  Fernande  said  to  Melanie  von 
Stelten  yesterday  evening,  when  we  were  driving  to  D — 
that  the  mother  of  that  little  one  in  there — now,  how 
shall  I  say  it — well  in  short — was  an  actress,  who,  through 
her  unheard-of  extravagance,  completely  ruined  poor 
uncle?" 

I  shut  my  eyes.  I  felt  as  if  one  had  given  me  a  blow. 
My  mother  an  actress  !  My  mother — her  dear  face  came 
before  me.  Her  dainty  figure,  as  she  sat  at  the  window, 
the  dear  finger  wounded  with  the  ceaseless  sewing — 
"  Unheard-of  extravagance!" — O,  if  Fernande  had 
known  her!  "  So?  Did  Ferra  relieve  her  mind?"  ques- 
tioned Aunt  Edith.  "  It  must  have  been  very  interesting, 
Lottchen,  and  the  drive  over  all  too  soon  for  you?" 

"  O,  yes,  Aunt  Edith,  it  did  interest  me.  You  know  in 
almost  every  family  there  comes  out  some  little  piquant 
scandal;  only  in  ours — thanks  to  the  incomparably 
calm,  passionless  blood  of  the  Demphoffs — in  this 
connection,  we  seemed  to  have  escaped  everything 
exciting." 

"  Charlotte!"  cried  Aunt  Edith,  rebukingly. 

A  silvery  musical  laugh  answered  her. 

"  It  is  true,  Aunt  Edith,  and  so  I  thought  it  extremely 
interesting.  Just  think  what  a  change  a  romantic  pas- 
sion must  make  in  a  quiet,  tiresome,  stupid  family  life. 

"  There  are  the  scenes  with  the  gentleman's  parents: 
The  son  threatens  to  take  his  life,  the  mother  plans 
amusements  to  distract  him  and  make  him  forget  his 
passion,  the  father  proposes  a  journey,  the  sisters  invite 
a  half-dozen  marriageable  friends  to  visit  them,  and 
finally  one  reads  in  the  local  paper  some  morning: 


44  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

" '  In  our  midst  has  occurred  a  most  romantic  episode, 
considering  the  present  blasg  period.  The  son  of  one  of 
our  first  families  has  married — in  spite  of  the  most  ener- 
getic opposition — a  young  actress,  who  understood, 
through  her  beauty,  so  to  fascinate  the  young  cavalier, 
that  he  — ' 

"  Really,  Auntie,  was  it  like  that?"  she  asked,  lowering 
her  declamatory  tone. 

"  Was  that  the  way  Ferra  told  the  story,  Charlotte?" 

"Very  similar,  Auntie,  only  more  in  detail;  more  col- 
ored," replied  my  cousin. 

"  Fernande  knew  this  story  much  too  little  to  relate 
it,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  earnestly,  "  and  as  a  proof  in  one 
particular,  the  mother  of  the  little  one  never  set  foot  on 
the  boards,  so  she  could  not  well  be  an  actress;  and  I 
beg  you  seriously,  Charlotte,  never  to  speak  of  her  again 
in  this  manner." 

"  Do  you  know  the  true  story,  Auntie?"  said  the 
young  girl,  enticingly.  "  Did  you  ever  see  the  woman 
that  forever  separated  papa  and  uncle?" 

"  I  saw  her  once  only,  Lotta,  "  said  Aunt  Edith.  "  I 
know  very  well  the  sad  story,  that  even  to-day  is  not 
understood.  This  woman,  Charlotte,  this  little  child-like 
woman,  with  the  great,  dark  eyes,  was  truly  the  innocent 
cause  of  the  discord,  but  on  her  lay  a  very  small  share  of 
the  blame.  She  had  the  pure,  sweet  spirit  of  a  child — 
no  coquette,  as  they  seemed  to  have  represented  her  to 
you." 

Good,  Aunt  Edith. 

My  heart  went  out  to  her  in  gratitude.  She  had  taken 
my  mother's  part  against  that  young  girl  there,  who 
would  judge  her  in  the  thoughtlessness  of  a  nature  who 
yet  has  no  idea  of  what  happiness  means.  I  opened  my 
eyes  and  looked  at  her.  She  sat  there  very  quiet,  and 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  45 

her  glance  rested  on  Aunt  Edith's  face  without  betray- 
ing any  real  interest. 

"  Pray  tell  me  what  you  know,  sweetest  of  aunts,"  she 
begged.  "  You  will  be  doing  a  good  deed.  First,  you 
will  compensate  me  for  the  avowedly  stupid  reunion  yes- 
terday; secondly,  that  I  can  prove  to  Ferra  that  I  am  much 
better  informed  in  the  matter  than  she." 

"  Is  that  your  only  reason  for  wishing  to  know  this 
sad  story,  Charlotte?"  said  Aunt  Edith,  seriously. 

Charlotte  lowered  her  eyes  and  was  silent. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  to  say  it,  Charlotte,"  con- 
tinued Aunt  Edith,  "  but  you  have  come  back  from  the 
pension  superficial  beyond  expression.  I  am  more  and 
more  convinced  it  is  so;  you  are  no  more  the  tender- 
hearted little  girl  that  so  easily  found  tears  for  others' 
unhappiness.  You  wish  to  enjoy  your  life;  to  amuse 
yourself  seems  to  be  your  only  aim." 

A  moment  the  young  girl  stretched  out  her  hands 
toward  her  aunt,  entreatingly;  then  her  head  drooped 
again,  and  she  remained  silent. 

"  I  will  tell  you  willingly  as  much  as  I  know,"  began 
Aunt  Edith  anew,  "  but  it  is  very  little;  and  I  only  do  it 
to  allow  you  a  glimpse  into  that  life  that  you  know  noth- 
ing of,  and  that  deceives  you  like  an  alluring  play,  and 
in  which  you  think  only  beautiful  things  can  befall  you. 
I  would  not  take  away  your  sunny  cheerfulness,  not  for 
the  world;  but  train  yourself  not  to  pass  by  misfortune 
indifferently,  or  treat  it  as  an  amusing  theme  of  conversa- 
tion. In  each  human  heart,  Hope's  flower  fails  at  some 
time  to  mature.  You  can  not  be  spared  your  sorrow, 
dear  child. 

"  It  is  only  a  short  story  that  you  will  hear,  but  it  con- 
tains a  world  of  pain,  Charlotte,"  began  Aunt  Edith, 
while  I  lay  with  beating  heart  and  listened  to  her  words: 


46  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  Herman  von  Demphoff,  the  father  of  our  little  sleeper, 
and  the  brother  of  your  father,  was  the  younger  son,  as 
you  know,  and  consequently  received  only  a  very  mod- 
erate fortune,  barely  sufficient  to  make  the  career  of  an 
officer  possible  to  him.  In  his  garrison  he  learned  to 
know  the  girl  who  was  so  fatal  to  him.  It  happened  in 
the  house  of  her  uncle,  who  called  her  his  adopted 
daughter.  I  believe  if  the  affair  had  proved  to  be 
as  it  seemed  at  that  time,  your  father  would  have 
scarcely  raised  an  objection  to  the  union  of  the  pair,  for 
the  old  uncle  was  a  respectable  man,  and  considered 
wealthy. 

"  Then  he  died  suddenly,  and  no  will  was  found,  and 
the  young  girl,  accustomed  to  every  possible  luxury,  was 
left  as  poor  as  a  beggar. 

"The  really  great  wealth  fell  to  a  distant  relative, 
who  took  not  the  slightest  notice  of  the  impoverished 
young  thing. 

"  Your  uncle  came  here  worn  with  anxiety,  and  begged 
admission  for  his  little  bride;  then  the  storm  broke. 
Unfortunately,  I  heard  almost  nothing  of  what  occurred 
in  the  Abbess  House,  in  the  family  of  your  father.  I, 
myself,  at  that  time  was  in  deep  sorrow. 

"  I  learned  of  the  quarrel  only  through  Gottlieb,  and 
that  Hermann  after  a  stormy  scene  drove  to  the  next 
post-station.  He  was  also  angry  with  me.  So  I  received 
no  intelligence  of  his  marriage,  which  was  celebrated 
soon  afterward.  I  first  saw  it  in  the  newspaper.  Soon 
after  the  wedding  the  brother  must  have  relented  in  a 
measure,  for  Hermann  and  his  young  wife  were  invited  to 
make  a  visit  to  Cloister  Wendhusen.  Not  until  the  guest- 
chamber,  which  was  opposite  my  room,  was  opened,  not 
until  Gottlieb  in  fine  livery  with  the  state  carriage  rolled 
through  the  gate-way  to  bring  the  guests,  did  I  learn 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  47 

from  my  questions  that  the  young  married  pair  were 
expected! 

"  I  was  at  that  time  too  much  accustomed  to  the  painful 
neglect  of  my  brothers  and  sisters  to  be  wounded  by 
this.  I  was  looked  upon  as  one  dead.  Nay,  worse;  for  a 
beloved  one,  dead,  has  once  in  awhile  a  flower  laid  on 
the  grave.  But — that  does  not  belong  here. 

"  There  is  something  of  the  spaniel  nature  in  some 
women's  hearts,  Lottchen,  as  they  say.  Instead  of  with- 
drawing myself  deep  in  my  room,  and  nursing  my 
wounded  pride,  for  long  hours  I  stood  that  day  watch- 
ing behind  the  curtain  to  see  my  youngest  brother's  wife, 
and  himself  as  a  happy  husband. 

"  But  I  met  with  disappointment,  for  I  could  not  see 
into  the  covered  carriage,  and  aside  from  a  blue  veil  that 
fluttered  in  the  spring  breeze,  I  saw  nothing  of  my  new 
sister-in-law.  And  later,  nothing,  for  I  was  taken  ill,  and 
had  to  remain  in  bed.  But  below  I  could  hear  a  soft, 
musical  woman's  voice,  and  light  feet  flitting  along  the 
corridor.  Beautiful,  wonderfully  beautiful  she  was,  my 
servants  told  me.  '  Oh,  My  Lady,  like  one  of  the  holy 
ones  that  hang  over  the  altar  in  the  Catholic  church  in 
Ellingen;  and  she  is  like  a  little  doll.  Oh,  so  little,'  they 
would  say.  Nearly  two  weeks  went  by  before  I  found 
myself  able  to  sit  up;  it  was  a  hot  June  day,  and  even  the 
twilight  was  not  able  to  soften  the  oppressive  sultriness. 
I  heard,  as  I  lay  on  my  sofa  in  the  dusk,  tired  and 
weak,  again  outside  in  the  corridor  the  tripping,  light 
feet — it  was  almost  a  run,  and  soon  the  door  of  the 
guests'  room  was  slammed  violently;  after  awhile 
a  man's  hasty  tread  sounded  down  the  corridor,  and 
again  the  door  opened,  and  the  voice  of  my  youngest 
brother  resounded  through  the  house.  'The  matter 
is  settled,  Elsie;  we  shall  leave  immediately!'  At  the 


48  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

same  time  I  could  hear  suppressed  weeping,  bitter  weep- 
ing. 

"In  an  instant  I  had  opened  my  door,  the  one  oppo- 
site mine  was  thrown  far  back.  I  could  see  over  the 
room,  and  recognized  in  the  roseate  twilight  of  the 
setting  sun,  a  slender  white  figure  on  the  sofa,  and  my 
brother  before  her  on  his  knees,  speaking  low  and  sooth- 
ing words. 

"l  Hermann,  I  did  nothing  bad.  Oh,  I  shall  die  with 
shame;  let  me  go  away,  Hermann;  let  me  go  away  from 
here,'  she  begged  again  and  again;  and  a  young,  tear- 
ful face,  full  of  unspeakable  charm,  raised  up  from  the 
pillow  and  laid  itself  against  his  cheek! 

"  '  Yes,  yes,  dear,  only  calm  yourself;  the  packing  must 
be  done,  and  you  are  excited  to  the  highest  pitch.  Did 
you  believe  for  one  moment  that  I  doubted  you?  My 
heaven!  who  could  fancy  such  a  thing?' 

"  He  arose  and  went  over  to  the  table,  and  the  next 
moment  it  flew  clattering  across  the  room,  and  the  frag- 
ments of  a  crystal  water  carafe  lay  glistening  on  the 
carpet.  The  young  wife  sprang  upon  her  feet  in 
fright  and  looked  at  her  husband  with  great,  startled 
eyes. 

" '  Not  a  glass  of  water  in  this  hospitable  house  when 
one  needs  it! '  he  cried,  with  suppressed  anger,  and 
he  pulled  the  bell-cord;  then  the  door  was  slammed. 

"Embarrassed,  I  also  closed  mine,  and  puzzled  my 
brain  to  fathom  what  could  have  happened.  The  sound 
of  horses'  hoofs  called  me  to  the  window,  and  I  saw  your 
father,  Lottchen,  quite  against  his  habit,  riding  away  in 
the  dusk,  and  before  he  returned,  Hermann  and  his 
young  wife  had  left  Wendhusen,  never  to  return. 

"I  never  could  forget  the  charming  face,  with  the 
glorious  dark  eyes  that  looked  up  so  shy  and  question- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  49 

ing  from  under  the  long  lids.  And  later,  when  the 
rumor  came  to  us  that  she  lived  in  the  direst  poverty,  I 
could  not  resist  sitting  down  and  writing  to  her,  and  beg- 
ging her  to  accept  assistance  from  me,  even  though  the 
sum  was  small.  My  letter  came  back  unopened.  She 
may  never  have  known  who  the  writer  was.  I  do  not 
believe  she  knew  that  a  sister  of  her  husband  existed; 
she  may  have  thought  the  letter  was  from  your  mother. 
So  I  remained  a  stranger  to  her  always,  when  I  so  gladly 
would  have  been  near  to  her. 

"  Once  again  I  made  an  attempt,  but  again  the  letter 
was  returned  to  me  through  the  post,  with  a  short  sen- 
tence from  a  delicate  woman's  hand,  the  substance  being, 
that  no  letter  from  Wendhusen  would  be  accepted. — 
This  was  nearly  a  year  after  Hermann's  death." 

"But,  Auntie,"  interrupted  Charlotte,  "you  have  said 
nothing  in  favor  of  exonerating  Uncle  Hermann's  wife. 
Ferra  says  she,  through  her  extravagance,  " 

"Charlotte!  Shall  Ferra  influence  you  with  her  judg- 
ment? 'Tis  true,  the  young  pair  lived  handsomely,  as 
their  circumstances  in  life  forced  them  to  do,  as  befitted 
their  station;  but  the  fault  was  the  husband's.  She 
believed  him  to  be  rich,  believed  his  means  sufficient  to 
permit  them  to  carry  on  such  a  brilliant  style  of  living. 
Without  misgiving,  she  lived  in  the  luxury  he  lavished 
upon  her!  I  am  convinced  if  he  had  only  given  her  an 
intimation  of  the  truth  she  would  gladly  have  joined 
hands  with  him,  and  lived  simply  as  their  means 
required." 

"  Why  do  you  infer  that,  Aunt  Edith?" 

"  By  the  way  and  manner  in  which  she  atoned  for  the 
mistake  she  made  through  ignorance.  Or  do  you  not 
think  it  is  an  atonement,  Charlotte,  if  the  woman,  with 
the  sacrifice  of  her  entire  strength,  procured  by  her 

4 


50  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

hands  day  and  night —  her  tender  hands  unaccustomed 
to  work —  support  for  herself  and  children,  and  brought 
them  up  respectably  and  honorably?  Do  you  not  think 
that  hours  of  such  toil  and  achievement,  in  tears  and 
humbled  pride,  can  make  good  the  wrongs  done  in  igno- 
rance? Can  you  imagine,  Charlotte,  what  it  must  be, 
night  after  night,  to  work  until  the  small  hours,  by  a 
dim  lamp,  with  painful  thoughts  for  company?  Do  you 
know  what  it  means,  when  one  must  say  to  himself, 
'  when  I  have  no  longer  strength  to  work,  then  must  I 
starve,  and  those  that  belong  to  me?'  No,  child,  you  d6 
not  know;  may  God  keep  you  from  the  knowledge." 

"Aunt,"  said  Charlotte,  entreatingly,  "  dear  Aunt." 

I  did  not  see  what  she  did;  as  she  spoke,  I  had  thrown 
myself  on  my  side,  and  buried  my  head  deep  in  the 
pillow,  that  they  might  not  hear  my  sobs,  which  tore  my 
breast. 

I  felt  a  kiss  on  my  hair,  and  as  I  turned  over,  my 
eyes  fell  on  my  Cousin  Lotta,  who  was  kneeling  by  my 
bed. 

"I  will  love  you,  little  cousin,"  she  said,  and  the  blue 
eyes  glistened  with  tears,  although  the  sweet  mouth 
smiled.  "  I  will  love  you;  forgive  me  for  what  I  said 
in  arrogance,  for  you  heard  me,  I  am  sure.  Come 
here,  you  tiny  creature,  and  give  me  a  kiss,"  she  said, 
drawing  me  to  her,  and  kissing  me.  "You  are  not  angry 
with  me?  No?"  and  her  sunny  face  grew  very  earnest 
as  she  questioned  me. 

I  shook  my  head  and  put  my  arms  around  her  neck. 
"  I  will  love  you  also,  Charlotte,"  I  assured  her  with 
a  sincere  heart. 

"  But  now  you  must  get  up,"  she  cried,  raising  up  from 
her  kneeling  posture  and  returning  to  her  natural  tone; 
"  may  I  be  your  maid?" 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  51 

With  merriest  chatter,  and  laughing  and  tittering,  she 
helped  me  to  dress. 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  is  going  to  happen  to  you," 
she  teased.  "  Yes,  yes,  you  little  town  miss,  you  are  now 
in  the  country  of  cows  and  calves,  and  they  are  very 
renowned  in  Cloister  Wendhusen.  Grass,  flowers,  trees, 
and  fresh  air  we  have  in  abundance;  only  wait,  you  shall 
soon  hive  red  cheeks."  She  stroked  her  hand  caress- 
ingly over  my  face,  as  she  helped  me  tuck  my  braids  in 
the  net. 

"Charlotte,"  I  asked,  "is  Aunt  Edith  called  Frau 
Berker  or  Berka?" 

She  laughed  merrily  and  clapped  her  hands.  "  Child, 
do  you  not  know  that?  Aunt  Berka." 

"I  had  never  heard  of  her,"  I  replied.  "Mamma 
never  talked  to  us  of  Cloister  Wendhusen." 

"  Why,  child,  you  have  not  known  either,  all  this  time, 
who  /  am,"  she  called,  in  comic  despair.  "  That  must  not 
beany  longer,  so  listen;  I  will  present  to  you  our  entire 
family  in  order." 

She  sat  down  on  the  side  of  my  bed,  and  looked  over 
to  me,  as  she  began  to  count  on  her  fingers. 

"  Number  one,  self-evident,  my  mother,  the  Frau  von 
Demphoff,  nee  von  Thienen  of  Thtlringen,  held  in  the 
greatest  respect  by  her  children  and  inferiors.  When 
Ferra  and  I  speak  of  her,  we  call  her  Serenissima.  Ferra 
and  Joachim  are  her  darlings,  Gerhardt  and  I  take  second 
place.  I  receive  very  many  harsh  words  from  her,  because 
— but  that  belongs  to  my  personal  description. 

"Number  two,  Leopold  Gerhardt  von  Demphoff, 
heir  and  chief  of  the  family,  my  golden  brother,  the  best, 
noblest  man  living.  But,  unfortunately,  he  is  a  little  bit 
of  an  invalid,"  she  said,  half  to  herself,  and  a  shadow  crept 
into  the  bright  eyes.  "  He  will  be  well  again,  I  know  it, 


62  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

Lena,"  she  said,  evidently  reassuring  herself.  "  If  you 
have  at  any  time  a  request  to  make,  go  to  him;  he  will 
not  say  no. 

"  Number  three,  my  beautiful  sister  Fernande  von 
Riedingen,  who  has  lived  under  her  father's  roof  for  two 
years,  because  her  husband  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  get 
thrown  at  the  races  in  R — , which  ended  his  life  and  made 
her  a  widow.  She  has  worn  the  deepest  black  for  a  year 
and  a  half;  it  is  so  extremely  becoming  to  blonde  hair — " 

"Lotta,  Lotta!"  cried  Aunt  Edith,  who  just  then 
entered  the  room,  "  you  have  dropped  again  into  the  old 
habit."  Then  she  came  over  to  me,  and  kissed  me  affec- 
tionately. "  Have  you  slept  well? "  she  asked.  "  I  see 
you  are  being  introduced  to  all  that  belong  to  the 
family — " 

"  Number  four,"  interrupted  Charlotte,  "  Joachim  von 
Demphoff,  lieutenant  in  the  Ninth  Cuirassier  Regiment, 
a  very  handsome  man,  cavalier  comme  il  faut,  with  all 
that  belongs  to  that,  virtues  and  faults,  adores  the  hunt 
next  to  the  ballet." 

"  I  pray  you  to  cease,  Lotta;  what  will  Magdalena  think 
of  you?"  said  Aunt  Edith,  somewhat  vexed. 

"  Number  five,  Charlotte  von  Demphoff,  enfant  ter- 
rible, shocks  every  member  of  the  family,  sees  everything 
she  should  not  see,  and  hears  what  is  not  meant  that  she 
should,  a  quite  disagreeable  character.  Whoever  she  pur- 
sues with  her  love  can  not  save  themselves.  Enjoys  most 
to  stay  in  Cloister  Wendhusen  with  Aunt  Edith  and  be 
scolded  by  her.  Oh,  you  good,  only  Aunt  Edith,  you!" 
she  cried,  impetuously,  taking  her  in  her  arms.  "  I  only 
ask  one  thing,  do  not  give  me  reason  to  be  jealous  of 
that  one  there." 

"  You  wild  creature,  let  me  go,  you  are  squeezing  the 
breath  out  of  me!"  cried  auntie;  "if  you  do  not  do 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  53 

differently,  it  is  quite  possible  the  little  one  will  dispute 
your  ground  with  you." 

"There,  Lena,  have  a  care!"  she  threatened,  running 
into  the  next  room  with  such  a  breeze  that  two  or  three 
of  Auntie's  pets  flew  over  to  her,  startled  out  of  their 
wits.  "  I  will  set  all  Auntie's  cats  on  you,  in  that  case, 
and  that  is  no  little  thing,  for  the  yellow  spotted  one  has 
six  young  ones." 

She  appeared  again  in  the  door,  brandishing  her  big 
straw  hat  at  us,  and  then  she  was  gone.  We  heard  her 
fresh,  merry  laugh  echo  in  the  corridor. 

"  Now  I  know  who  you  are,"  I  said,  drawing  Aunt 
Edith's  arm  around  my  neck;  "  you  are  my  dear  father's 
only  sister." 

She  stroked  my  hair  tenderly.  "  Your  father's  sister," 
she  repeated  softly,  and  continued:  "Child,  child,  how 
much  you  resemble  your  mother;  the  same  eyes,  quite 
the  same." 

"  Auntie,  I  thank  you,"  I  said,  and  kissed  the  hand  I 
held.  "  If  I  had  known  how  good  you  are — mamma 
must  have  written  to  you,  and  not  to  Aunt  Demphoff, 
that  she  needed  help.  You  would  not  have  answered 
that  she  was  guilty  of  my  father's  misfortune." 

She  pushed  me  suddenly  back  and  looked  at  me,  quite 
pale. 

"  What?  Your  mother  wrote  to  her  and  she  replied  as 
you  say?" 

I  nodded  assent.  "  She  was  very  ill  after  that  and  she 
talked  of  it  in  her  delirium." 

Aunt  Edith  was  silent;  she  gazed  into  the  green  foli- 
age that  stirred  outside  in  the  golden  morning  light. 
An  indescribably  bitter  expression  lay  around  her  mouth. 
Then  she  stepped  to  the  window,  and  as  she  opened  the 
heavy  blind  she  turned  to  me  with  the  words: 


54  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  Now  come,  Magdalena,  to  breakfast;  it  is  very  late 
to-day.  To-morrow,  I  shall  call  you  early.  I  always  take 
a  walk  through  the  park  in  the  morning,  and  you  shall 
accompany  me.  You  have  no  idea  how  lovely  it  is, 
you  poor  little  town-mouse." 


CHAPTER  III. 

That  was  the  day  of  my  arrival  in  Wendhusen,  and 
my  first  awaking.  Almost  five  years  have  passed  since 
that  morning,  and  yet  it  stands  out  with  such  clearness 
before  my  mind,  that  I  could  almost  think  that  it  was  only 
yesterday  that  I — a  little  inexperienced,  homesick  girl — 
awakened  under  Aunt  Edith's  green -canopied  bed  and 
listened  to  the  conversation  that  started  a  thousand 
questions  in  my  childish  heart — as  if  it  were  only  yester- 
day that  Charlotte  kneeled  by  my  bed  and  promised, 
with  tears  and  laughter,  to  love  me —  this  whimsical, 
dear  creature,  who  seemed  composed  of  smiles  and  tears, 
and  to  whom  life  suddenly  became  all  tears;  but,  God  be 
thanked,  finally  changed  back  to  smiles. 

Ah,  Lottchen,  if  you  have  not  long  known  that  I  love 
you,  I  will  here  make  my  love's  declaration,  with  the 
remembrance  of  all  that  we  mutually  experienced  and 
suffered. 

Also,  that  day  stands  out  clearly  before  me,  as  I  then, 
for  the  first  time,  went  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  in  the 
old  cloister.  I  think  it  was  the  first  day;  Aunt  Edith 
went  to  visit  a  sick  woman  in  the  town.  I  sat  all  alone 
in  a  deep  window  niche,  looking  over  the  grass  plat, 
away  over  the  high  tops  of  the  park  trees,  behind  which 
the  villa  lay  concealed.  It  was  uncomfortably  still  in 
the  great  building,  and  outside  was  no  trace  of  life. 
At  one  side  lay  the  Abbess  House,  with  its  rows  of  shut- 
tered windows  with  deep  shadows  over  the  long  flight  of 

(56) 


56  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

steps,  or  stairs;  the  tendrils  of  the  wild  vines  grew  in 
unrestrained  freedom;  they  had  made  a  net-work  over 
the  steps,  and  hung  in  great,  luxuriant  garlands  over  the 
massive  house  door,  till  it  looked  as  if  it  might  be  the 
entrance  to  little  Brier-rose's  enchanted  castle.  And 
behind  those  windows  my  father  had  lived  a  happy  child. 
Over  the  moss-grown  steps,  in  later  years,  my  mother's 
little  feet  had  tripped  into  the  house  in  which  she  had 
been  so  harshly  treated.  What  could  they  have  done  to 
her,  who  was  so  good,  so  beautiful?  If  one  could  only 
go  into  those  rooms;  but  they  had  been  locked  since 
Uncle's  death. 

Why? 

Everything  that  I  had  seen  and  heard  seemed  so 
enigmatical!  A  little  paroxysm  of  terror  overcame  me.  I 
sprang  up  and  ran  into  the  corridor.  The  long  hall  was 
always  in  a  twilight,  even  with  the  most  glaring  sunshine 
outside,  and  deep  shadows  were  concealed  in  corners 
and  niches.  Where  were  the  rooms  my  parents  had 
occupied  on  that  visit?  Opposite,  surely;  there,  across 
the  hall. 

I  stood  before  one  of  the  high,  dark,  carved  doors 
that  were  in  regular  distance  along  the  whitewashed 
wall.  I  peeped  through  the  key-hole,  and  saw  a  little 
strip  of  carpet,  with  large  flowered  pattern.  A  cool  air 
blew  toward  me;  evidently  the  windows  were  open  in 
there.  Aunt  Edith  had  told  me  that  during  the  hunting 
season,  when  there  were  many  guests,  these  rooms  were 
always  used  as  sleeping-rooms;  they  called  this  wing  the 
"lodging-house."  In  the  palmy  days  of  the  cloister, 
not  only  the  massive  stone  building,  but  the  Abbess 
House,  was  used  for  this  purpose,  and,  judging  from  the 
number  and  size  of  the  rooms,  the  pious  Sisters  must 
have  been  eminently  hospitable. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  57 

The  charm  of  it  all  suddenly  took  possession  of  me; 
this  mysterious  half-light  in  the  deserted  building. 

Legends  of  old  knights'  castles,  in  whose  galleries  the 
lady  of  the  castle  went  to  and  fro  in  trailing  silken  robes, 
and  little  round  cap,  embroidered  in  gold,  the  pocket  and 
bunch  of  keys  by  her  side,  came  to  my  mind.  Yes,  there 
was  charm,  but  mixed  with  fear,  in  rummaging  in  these 
old  rooms  that  had  not  been  lived  in  for  years,  yet  that 
once  had  seen  so  much,  so  much. 

On  tip-toe  I  stole  down  the  endlessly  long  passage. 
Here  and  there  a  streak  of  light  out  of  a  key-hole  fell 
on  the  old  gray  floor,  and  there  at  the  end  of  the  corridor 
was  a  bright  light.  A  few  steps  led  down  into  the 
Abbess  House,  but  first,  into  a  large  whitewashed  hall, 
the  windows  covered  with  linen  curtains.  Beautifully 
carved  dark  folding-doors  led  to  the  rooms;  large  antlers 
ornamented  the  walls,  and  from  the  ceiling  hung  a  large 
glass  bell,  in  an  old-fashioned  brass  hoop,  evidently  desig- 
nated for  the  reception  of  a  lamp.  Here,  also,  I  peered 
through  a  key-hole,  with  bated  breath  and  throbbing 
heart — these  must  be  the  rooms  in  which  my  father  was 
born  and  grew  up.  But  I  could  not  spy  more  than  a 
little  strip  of  brown  leather  hanging  with  gilt  decora- 
tion, and  a  little  piece  of  the  gilt  frame  of  a  picture. 

Aunt  Edith  must  tell  me  all  about  it,  I  thought,  and 
before  I  really  knew  where  I  was,  I  found  myself  on  the 
upper  step  of  a  broad  staircase  that  began  to  creak 
uncomfortably  under  my  light  weight.  For  a  moment  I 
hesitated,  then  I  ran  hurriedly  down,  raising  a  mighty 
cloud  of  dust  with  my  dress. 

Another  locked  door  near  the  foot  of  the  stairs;  no,  a 
pressure  on  the  latch  opened  it;  it  flew  back  with  an 
uncanny  screech  that  went  through  the  whole  scale.  I 
almost  screamed  aloud  with  astonishment  and  surprise — 


58  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

I  believed  myself  set  back  many  hundred  years.  It 
seemed  a  picture  out  of  the  Middle  Ages — the  vaulted 
roof  of  the  large,  airy,  broad  passage,  with  its  pointed 
arches,  which  were  held  together  with  delicately-carved 
stone  rosettes.  There  were  no  outside  walls;  only  slender, 
spiral  columns.  Climbing  roses  and  wild  vines  hung 
their  luxuriant  tendrils  downward  like  airy  curtains,  and 
underneath,  away,  the  glance  roved  over  flowery  grass- 
plats  in  the  thick,  green  wilderness  of  noble  old  trees. 
The  brilliant  sheen  of  a  midday  sun  lay  on  the  green 
turf;  no  sound  broke  the  stillness;  I  strolled  linger- 
ingly  between  the  columns,  out  on  to  the  grass-grown 
garden-walk.  White  butterflies  fluttered  in  swarms  over 
the  beds  whose  plants  ran  wild;  the  tendrils  of  the  cen- 
tifolious  (evenly  woven  into  a  net- work,  the  border  of  box- 
shrub)  grew  far  out  in  the  path  and,  as  if  resenting  my 
presence,  caught  on  my  dress  and  held  me  fast,  and  here 
and  there  a  statue  gleamed  out  from  dark  shadows, 
almost  overgrown  with  ivy,  which  thickly  matted  the 
trunks  of  the  trees  also. 

As  in  a  dream,  I  went  on. 

This  was  in  very  truth  Brier-rose's  enchanted  garden, 
so  world-forsaken,  so  weird  in  its  solitude,  it  lay  there 
in  the  light  of  the  midday  sun,  which  could  not  be 
entirely  driven  out,  though  reduced  to  twilight,  by  the 
roof  of  thick,  green  foliage. 

The  branches  hung  so  low  that  they  grazed  my  hair, 
and  they  concealed,  also,  with  their  wealth  of  leaves, 
the  high  walls  which  enclosed  the  garden,  and  made  it 
seem  immeasurable. 

O,  thou  beautiful  old  cloister  garden,  how  dear  hast 
thou  become  to  me! — almost  the  dearest  spot  on  this 
great,  round  earth. 

The  immense  park  around  the  elegant  villa,  with  its 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  59 

Englishy,  velvety  lawn,  and  its  broad  flower  pastures, 
vanished  completely  before  this  little  grass-plat,  with  its 
field  flowers  flecking  it  with  color.  And  on  none  of  the 
modern  easy-chairs  could  one  sit  so  comfortably  as  on 
the  old  moss-grown  stone  bench  under  the  two  great 
linden  trees  which  made  with  their  branches  the  precious 
spot  yet  more  secluded  and  secret. 

Ah!  how  many  hundred  times  have  I  sat  there  in  pain 
and  joy;  over  my  head  the  swaying  branches,  and  at  my 
feet  the  half-sunken  grave-stone  of  an  old  abbess, 
whose  exact  image,  in  life-size,  with  the  garments  in 
stiff  folds,  the  hands  crossed  over  the  breast,  adorned 
the  place  under  which  she  had  reposed  already  over  two 
hundred  years.  The  rain  splashed  on  the  sandstone;  in 
the  winter  the  snow-water  trickled  over  it,  but  ever  lay  the 
fine,  chiseled  form  in  its  resting-place,  and  ever  one 
could  read  that  "Anno  1558,  the  Right  Reverend  Abbess, 
Frau  Magdalena  Sibylla,  Countess  of  the  Empire,  of 
Radeberg  and  Hohenstein,  went  to  God,  through  Christ, 
in  a  blessed  hour  of  death." 

It  was  my  favorite  place,  this  old  grave.  I  had  pulled 
up  the  nettles  and  planted  ivy  and  evergreen  around, 
and  in  doing  so  thought  of  a  dear,  distant  grave  that 
stranger  hands  cared  for;  and  felt  that  what  I  was  doing 
to  one  long,  long  dead,  in  a  way  I  was  doing  for  my 
mother. 

"  That  is  right,"  said  old  Gottlieb  later,  from  whom  I 
had  begged  some  plants;  "that  is  right,  gracious  Frau- 
lein,  one  must  have  something  tangible,  some  place 
where  he  feels  at  home  with  his  remembrances,  and  no 
other  soul  can  follow  with  the  thoughts.  I  feel  just  so. 
When  I  have  a  heavy  heart  —  ah!  Heaven,  and  who  has 
not  sometimes — then  I  go  out  of  the  room  and  go 
up  into  the  garret,  in  the  flax -room  that  was  the  pride  of 


60  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

my  blessed  old  wife,  her  favorite  place;  and  when  my 
heart  is  full  of  hot  blood  and  wrong  thoughts,  and  I  go 
in  there  and  smell  the  flax,  and  see  the  yarn  hanging 
there  that  her  hands  have  spun,  it  is  as  if  she  said  to  me, 
'Never  mind,  never  mind;  all  will  come  right.' " 

How  many  long  conversations  I  have  held  with  the 
honest  old  man  in  the  cloister  garden!  He  pointed  out 
to  me  the  window  of  my  uncle's  study,  where  the  lamp 
sent  out  its  rays  into  the  quiet  garden,  often  till  long 
after  midnight.  Then  his  favorite  path  that  he  used  to 
take  every  morning  before  breakfast  to  the  sun-dial,  over 
which  was  the  strange  device: 

"Memento  Horae  IVovissimez." 

He  would  tell  me  of  the  home  life,  how  very  different 
it  was  when  the  blessed  master  was  living,  and  he  (Gott- 
lieb) was  the  family  coachman.  How,  every  Sunday 
morning  at  7  o'clock  exactly,  the  large  carriage  with  the 
glass  sides  was  at  the  door,  and  master,  and  mistress, 
and  children,  tutor,  and  governess,  drove  to  Welsroda, 
to  the  church.  And  hurrah!  Then  in  the  afternoon 
they  went  to  Littwitz,  to  the  Istheims,  or  to  Tromsdori 
to  see  the  Mtinchs,  or  to  a  picnic  in  the  green  woods, 
where  coffee  was  made  and  there  were  singing  and  play- 
ing. 

The  household  was  happy,  and  the  coachman  had 
then,  Sundays,  in  the  servants'  hall,  roast  pork  and  good 
home-brewed  ale. 

"  Yes,  yes,  times  are  changed.  In  the  present  day, 
there  are  no  more  drives  on  Sunday,  nor  going  to 
church.  If  the  young  master  did  not  go,  our  young 
ladies  would  not  go  for  a  whole  year.  Yes,  yes,  but 
what  business  is  it  of  mine?  The  world  is  round,  and 
must  turn  itself,  however.  Nothing  is  any  more  what  it 
used  to  be,  at  least  not  here." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  61 

Once  I  asked  him,  with  some  hesitation,  why  he  was 
no  longer  the  family  coachman? 

At  first  the  good  old  face  flushed,  then  became  paler 
than  usual. 

"  Because  the  mistress  never  forgave  me  that  I  was  the 
one  that  drove  Fraulein  Edith  that  night.  She  treasured 
it  against  me;  but  so  long  as  the  master  lived,  the  mat- 
ter seemed  to  be  forgotten.  I  received  from  him  a 
hearty  scolding,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  The  mis- 
tress, however,  had  treasured  it  up  in  her  heart,  and  four 
weeks  after  the  master  died,  or  thereabouts,  Gottlieb 
must  leave  the  place,  out  of  the  house;  that  is,  he  must  do 
the  driving  for  the  inspectors  and  superintendent,  and 
for  Frau  Berka,  for  no  one  could  serve  two  masters. 
Think  of  that,  old  Gottlieb!  That  is  on  your  account, 
I  thought,  and  took  my  fine  place.  My  old  Frau  was 
sick  with  anger.  She  was  already,  at  that  time,  a  feeble 
woman.  I  will  not  speak  any  more  of  that  time;  but  I 
had  to  control  myself  that  I  did  not  strike  to  the  earth 
everything  that  came  in  my  way;  as  if  I  could  do  any 
different,  when  the  gracious  Fraulein  said  to  me:  '  Gott- 
lieb, be  at  the  garden  gate  this  evening,  with  the  dog- 
cart. I  am  going  to  drive.'  That  was  a  command;  I 
must  obey.  That  she  did  not  come  back  with  me — could 
I  help  that?" 

"  She  did  not  come  back,  Gottlieb?" 

"No,  no,  Fraulein;  she  remained  where  it  pleased  her 
better  than  here — yes;  but  you  need  know  no  more  of 
the  story.  I  know  nothing  further,  only  this.  If  I 
could  to-day  do  her  a  favor,  I  would,  if  they  drove  me 
from  the  place  the  same  evening." 

Mysteries  were  continually  weaving  themselves  around 
me,  and  my  busy  fancy  held  a  thousand  fabulous  conject- 
ures, which  grouped  themselves  sometimes  around  my 


62  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

mother,  sometimes  around  Aunt  Edith.  For  half  a  day 
I  would  muse  over  it,  and  nearly  forget  my  anxiety  and 
worry  about  George.  Whenever  the  weather  permitted  I 
would  slip  off  down-stairs  to  the  cloister  garden,  and 
would  come  back  with  my  arms  full  of  flowers,  with 
which  I  would  decorate  Auntie's  room  and  my  own.  She 
let  me  do  as  I  pleased,  and  would  smilingly  stroke  my 
hair  with  a  loving  hand;  and  when  I  would  crown  the 
pretty  lad's  face  over  her  sewing-table  with  roses  and 
fresh  green,  she  would  laugh  and  nod. 

"  A  splendid  boy,  isn't  he,  Lena?  so  will  your  George 
be.  Do  you  not  see  a  resemblance?" 

Then  I  would  bring  out  the  little  photograph  of 
George,  and  we  would  compare,  and  after  much  looking 
we  finally  found  really  some  resemblance,  although  my 
boy's  dark  face  had  very  little  in  common  with  the  one 
looking  out  from  the  frame,  which  was  a  face  too  earnest 
and  thoughtful  for  its  years. 

Over  eight  days  had  passed.  George  and  Christiana 
had  already  replied  to  my  first  letter,  and  my  life  had 
begun  to  move  on  in  regular  fashion.  I  helped  to  sew 
for  the  poor  children;  practiced,  on  an  old-fashioned 
piano,  scales  and  exercises;  and  had  conversations  with 
Aunt  Edith  in  English  and  French;  read  much  aloud — 
and,  in  short,  I  found  myself  from  day  to  day  more  and 
more  contented  in  the  old  cloister. 

The  stable-yard,  a  large  inclosure  behind  the  cloister 
building,  also  had  a  peculiar  charm  for  me.  The  rooms 
opposite  ours  looked  down  into  the  yard.  One  of  the 
smallest  Aunt  Edith  used  for  a  sort  of  store-room,  and 
I  would  stand  there  by  the  hour  at  the  window  and  look 
down. 

For  a  city  girl,  it  was  wonderfully  interesting  to  watch 
the  bright-colored  fowls,  the  stately  dove-cote,  the  beau- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  63 

tiful  white  cows,  and  the  immense  four-horse  hay  wagon 
with  its  fragrant  load.  I  would  often  see  Cousin  Gerhardt 
there.  He  would  go  from  barns  to  stable  with  friendly 
greeting,  and  once,  to  my  joy,  I  saw  him  driven  back 
from  the  field  by  Gottlieb,  and  saw  him  give  him  a 
friendly  nod,  as  he  got  out  of  the  wagon.  I  was  sure 
that  pleased  the  good  old  man. 

I  saw  none  of  the  occupants  of  the  villa,  and  even 
Cousin  Gerhardt  long  ago  must  have  forgotten  that  a 
strange  little  girl  lived  there  with  the  quiet  aunt.  After 
that  first  night's  rest,  which  he  came  to  inquire  after,  as 
he  promised,  I  had  not  seen  him;  and  only  once  the 
ladies,  when  they  drove  rapidly  through  the  park,  and 
Charlotte  had  not  once  looked  up  to  Auntie's  windows. 
Aunt  Edith  did  not  appear  to  notice  Charlotte's  long 
absence.  She  never  mentioned  it,  only  it  seemed  to  me 
she  was  restless  and  preoccupied,  as  if  she  were  expect- 
ing something;  and  toward  evening,  when  it  was  time  for 
the  postman,  she  would  go  down  through  the  long  cor- 
ridor and  bend,  listening,  over  the  heavy  wooden  bal- 
usters of  the  stairs;  or,  in  case  she  had  not  returned 
punctually  at  that  time  from  a  sick  visit,  she  would  go 
directly  to  the  corner  cupboard  and  look  where  Jette 
usually  put  the  mail  matter,  and  there  was  always  a 
mixture  of  anxiety  and  hope  in  the  large  eyes. 

If  she  found  only  a  newspaper,  she  would  sit  down 
with  a  sigh,  at  the  window,  with  her  hands  close  folded, 
and  look  out  over  the  green  tops  of  the  trees;  but  after 
a  while  she  would  turn  around  to  me  with  the  old  sweet 
smile.  "  Good  evening,  little  one,"  she  would  say,  and 
the  cheerful  hope  was  back  again  in  her  face,  and  she 
would  call  her  pets. 

"To-morrow  is  coming,"  she  said  one  evening,  half 
aloud,  when  I  joyfully  received  a  letter  from  George, 


64  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

and  to  Aunt  Edith's  question,  the  postman  had  answered 
laconically,  "  nothing." 

"  How  many  letters  have  you  had,  child,  in  the  four- 
teen days  you  have  been  here? "  she  asked  one  evening. 
"The  little  fellow  will  spoil  you — only  it  is  the  first 
longing,  and  the  first  pain;  is  he  well?" 

I  sat  down  on  the  estrade  at  her  feet,  and  began  to 
read  my  letter  aloud;  but  I  did  not  reach  the  end, 
because  the  longing  drove  the  hot  tears  to  my  eyes,  for 
George  wrote  complainingly.  A  button  was  torn  off  his 
Sunday  jacket  and  the  Frau  Doctor  had  no  time  to  sew 
it  on. 

I  stopped  reading,  and  my  heart  sank,  while  I  thought 
how  carefully  the  little  boy's  toilet  was  always  kept  by 
the  mother's  busy  hands,  and  how  vexing  such  slackness 
would  be  to  the  child,  so  accustomed  to  order,  and  I 
could  not  help  him. 

Aunt  Edith  could  not  have  been  listening,  for  she  did 
not  seem  to  notice  that  I  had  stopped  reading.  She  was 
looking  thoughtfully  into  the  park,  as  she  softly  stroked 
the  white  fur  of  Minka,  who  sat  near  her  on  the  window- 
seat.  I  was  doubly  wretched  then,  for  I  had  never  seen 
Aunt  Edith  unsympathetic  before,  and  a  feeling  of 
rebellion  at  her  neglect  and  indifference  arose  within 
me.  I  would  have  liked  to  give  the  white  Minka  a  com- 
fortable push  out  of  the  window,  if  it  had  been  possible. 
Should  I  sit  still  and  wait  for  Aunt  Edith  to  turn  again 
to  me,  or  go  to  my  room  and  have  a  good  cry?  But, 
before  I  came  to  a  conclusion,  the  door  opened,  and 
Charlotte  came  into  the  room.  She  flew  in  great  haste 
to  Aunt  Edith,  and  threw — way  over  me,  so  that  her 
white  muslin  dress  completely  covered  me — her  arms 
around  her  neck,  and,  as  I  quickly  slipped  to  one  side, 
she  kneeled  in  my  deserted  place  and  laid  her  head  in 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  65 

Aunt  Edith's  lap.  That  all  happened  in  a  moment,  and 
the  next  instant  I  saw  Aunt  Edith's  head  bend  over,  and 
heard  her  softly  ask  a  question,  and  Charlotte  answered 
with  almost  heart-breaking  sobs. 

"  Aunt,  dear  aunt,  I  can  not  keep  my  misery  to  myself 
any  longer,"  she  cried,  raising  her  head  and  wiping  away 
her  tears.  "  I  hear  nothing  the  entire  day  but  '  Be 
reasonable,  child!  We  only  desire  the  best  for  you! 
Only  consider  what  we  ask!'  etc.  Mamma  seems  to 
have  entirely  settled  the  matter  in  her  own  mind,  and 
if  I  dare  to  make  any  opposition,  says:  'We  shall  see,' 
and  she  positively  forbids  my  talking  over  the  matter 
with  you.  But  to-day  I  could  not  bear  it  any  longer. 
I  declared  to  Ferra,  with  energy,  that  I  should  go  to 
you  now,  on  the  spot,  and  beg  your  advice." 

"  That  was  foolish,  dear,"  replied  Aunt  Edith.  "  If 
there  is  something  concerning  yourself,  you  can  easily 
see  how  my  advice  would  be  judged  in  such  matters. 
Child,  you  have  acted  rashly.  Why  do  you  not  talk 
with  Gerhardt?" 

"  Because  he  has  not  been  at  home  for  a  week,  dear 
Aunt." 

"  That  is  really  too  bad,  my  darling;  now  pour  out  your 
little  heart.  What  do  they  require  of  you,  Charlotte?" 

Charlotte  threw  back  her  beautiful  head,  placed  both 
arms  again  around  Auntie's  neck,  looked  up  at  her,  and 
then  her  silvery  laugh  echoed  through  the  high  room. 

"  Oh,  it  is  comical,  after  all,  you  sweetest  of  aunts," 
she  cried,  though  at  the  same  time  bright  tears  were 
running  out  of  her  eyes.  "  I  have  to  laugh,  and  yet,  it 
is  horribly  serious — just  think,  Auntie,  I  must — " 

She  broke  off  suddenly  and  sprang  up  from  her  kneel- 
ing position,  for  in  the  open  door,  as  if  by  magic,  stood 
Ferra. 

5 


66  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

Ferra  had,  as  I  learned  later,  an  enviable  gift  of  never 
showing  embarrassment;  and,  moreover,  one  could  never 
see  that  she  had  any  special  aim  in  view  in  her  actions, 
and  so  she  came  to-day,  into  Aunt  Edith's  room — with 
a  genial  smile  which  was  very  becoming  to  her  delicate 
features — as  if  it  were  her  custom  to  do  so  every  day. 
She  stretched  out  her  hand,  although  she  avoided  look- 
ing into  the  questioning  eyes  of  the  old  lady,  threatened 
Charlotte  roguishly  with  her  ringer,  and  nodded  hastily 
to  me. 

"Ah,  ha!"  she  said,  "you  seem  to  have  found  again 
your  lost  laugh  with  Aunt  Edith,  little  one!  I  assure 
you,  Aunt,  that  child  goes  around  the  house  as  if  the 
hopes  of  her  whole  life  had  been  blasted.  Now  I  see 
how  much  your  tears  mean,  you  little  fraud!" 

Charlotte  did  not  answer,  but  turned  quickly  to  me, 
wiping  away  the  last  traces  of  her  tears,  and  sat  down 
beside  me  on  the  window-seat. 

"  Now,  little  cousin,"  she  began,  "  we  have  not  seen 
each  other  for  a  long  time.  Considering  our  avowed 
friendship,  I  have  been  expecting  you  would  come  over 
to  inquire  after  me;  but  you  have  not." 

"  Could  I  dare  do  that?" 

"  Why,  my  child,  what  a  foolish  question!  You  simply 
go  to  my  room,  and  if  I  am  not  there,  send  the  house- 
maid after  me,  in  case  you  didn't  wish  to  seek  me  your- 
self." 

I  shook  my  head  vigorously.  "  No,  Charlotte,  I  would 
not  do  that;  but  you  come  here,  that  is  nicer,  and  I  will 
show  you  my  place  down  in  the  cloister  garden." 
Meanwhile,  Ferra  had  pushed  a  chair  up  to  Aunt  Edith's 
window,  and  lay  back  comfortably  in  it.  It  was  very 
evident  she  did  not  mean  to  leave  the  room  before  her 
sister. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  67 

It  was  also  evident  that  Charlotte  understood,  for  she 
bit  her  lip  angrily. 

"  Now  Auntie,"  asked  Ferra,  "  what  is  your  honest 
opinion  of  the  whole  story?" 

"  I  have  no  opinion,  my  child,  for  I  do  not  know  the 
story." 

Ferra's  eyes  suddenly  brightened,  and  she  threw  a 
friendly  glance  at  her  sister. 

"  It  is  right  of  Lotta  to  settle  this  affair  by  herself," 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  commendation.  "  It  does  not 
help  matters  to  be  asking  advice  here  and  there;  it  is 
only  confusing." 

"  I  was  just  about  to  tell  Aunt  Edith,  Ferra,  when 
you  came  in;  but — although  I  am  forced  to  delay  giving 
her  my  confidence,  I  shall  do  so  at  some  future  time," 
she  concluded. 

"  I  will  take  a  share  in  it  then,  Lottchen — if  you  will 
persist;  I  am  sure,  Aunt,  you  will  allow  me  to  do  so.  Do 
you  not  think,  with  us,  that  Lotta  has  no  right  to  so 
obstinately  resist  when  an  honorable  man  makes  her  an 
offer  of  marriage?" 

"  I  am  not  at  all  obstinate,"  corrected  Charlotte,  "  for 
this  '  honorable  man  '  is  very  indifferent  to  me.  Only  it 
makes  me  unhappy,  when  you  and  mamma  know 
that,  you  still  urge  me  to  marry  him,  as  if — " 

"  You  will  never  believe  that  we  have  only  your  good 
at  heart, Lottchen,"  her  sister  said,  softly. 

"In  this  case,  I  surely  can  not  see  it,"  replied  Char- 
lotte, defiantly. 

"Will  you  not  take  Gerhardt  into  your  confidence?" 
asked  Aunt  Edith.  "  I  can  really  say  nothing  about  the 
matter;  for,  in  the  first  place,  I  do  not  know  anything 
about  the  gentleman,  not  even  his  name — for  I  do  not 
go  out.as  you  know,  and  haven't  for  long  years;  so,  of 


68  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

course,  I  know  no  one,  and  could  not  pass  any  judg- 
ment." 

"No,  Aunt,  no,''  cried  Ferra,  hastily,  "  Gerhardt  must 
not  be  disturbed  with  such  affairs;  he  is  ill;  we  must 
never  forget  that,  and  he  has,  besides,  many  things  on 
his  mind  already.  And  then,  like  all  invalids,  he  takes 
an  almost  invisible  speck  for  a  black  mountain.  No, 
there  is  no  necessity  of  telling  him  anything  about  the 
matter." 

"  Ah!  now  you  are  the  old  Ferra,  looking  on  the  dark 
side  of  everything;  I  do  not  consider  Gerhardt  an 
invalid  by  any  means,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  calmly. 

"  Gerhardt  is  a  great  sufferer,  dear  Aunt — excuse  me. 
Continually  with  him  as  I  am,  I  can  better  judge  of 
his  condition  than  one  who  rarely  sees  him.  Pray 
observe  him  yourself,  when  he  returns  from  his  journey, 
and  see  how  worn  and  ill  he  will  look." 

"Yes,  I  can  believe  that,"  remarked  Charlotte,  dryly, 
"  such  vexations  as  he  will  have  to  struggle  with  naturally 
would  exhaust  one.  Joachim  will  have  the  pleasantest 
surprises  for  him  in  petto." 

"You  talk  like  a  foolish  child,  Charlotte,"  said  Ferra, 
rebukingly.  "  If  Joachim  makes  debts,  it  is  the  natural 
consequence  of  Gerhardt's  niggardliness.  Why  does  he 
not  give  him  a  sufficient  sum  for  his  needs?  I  take 
Joachim's  part,  decidedly.  I  also  know  what  it  is  to 
exist  on  a  pittance." 

"  Poor  Ferra,"  said  Charlotte,  good  naturedly,  "  you 
are,  to  be  sure,  always  kept  unjustifiably  short" 

For  a  moment  Ferra  looked  extremely  angry. 

"  I  do  not  claim  to  be  economical,"  she  continued, 
"  nor  do  I  claim  that  Joachim  is.  But  that  one  can  live 
decently  on  what  Gerhardt  considers  sufficient  is  per- 
fectly absurd.  One  must  have  forbearance  for  him, 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  09 

because  he  is  ill.  How  does  a  sick  person  know  what 
life  means?" 

"  That  is  true!  It  would  be  impossible  for  Gerhardt 
to  squander  his  money  right  and  left,  to  lose  2,000 
thalers  in  one  night,  for  instance.  Does  k  take  ability 
to  do  that?  I  hold  it  to  be  the  contrary." 

Charlotte  tapped  her  forehead  amiably  with  her  finger 
and  continued,  rising,  so  that  Ferra  could  not  reply. 

"  And  now,  Aunt  Edith,  say  to  me  one  word — isn't  it 
true  that  I  have  the  right  to  give  Herr  von  Sauden  the 
mitten,  if  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  him?  He  inspires  me 
with  aversion.  I  am  as  afraid  of  him  as  I  can  be." 

"Heavens,  Ferra!"  cried  Aunt  Edith,  "would  you 
have  that  child  marry  that  old  man?" 

Charlotte  began  to  laugh  again;  she  clapped  her  hands 
together,  and  the  musical  voice  rang  out  with  a  joyous 
tone  as  of  one  redeemed,  it  seemed  to  me.  I  had  begun 
to  feel  very  uncomfortable  listening  to  the  conversation 
between  the  sisters. 

"  Yes,  is  it  not  too  ridiculous,  best  of  Aunties?"  she 
cried.  "  Can  you  not  see  him,  so  bent  over,  but  always 
elegant  in  his  toilet,  and  very  active,  with  an  irrepressible 
smile,  his  mouth  puckered  up  as  if  he  were  just  about 
to  whistle,  a  rose  in  his  button-hole,  and  a  raven-black 
wig? —  '  My  dear  young  lady,' "  she  said,  in  another 
voice,  hastily  taking  a  duster  from  the  wall,  and  making 
a  most  comical  face,  so  that  one  saw  she  was  mimicking 
her  elderly  wooer,  " '  permit  me,  with  the  greatest  devo- 
tion, to  lay  at  your  feet  some  of  my  forest  roses;  they 
long  after  their  beautiful  sister;'  "  and  thereupon  she 
reached  over  to  Ferra  the  feather-duster,  with  a  grotesque 
bow.  Although  really  angry,  Ferra  had  to  join  in  the 
general  laugh. 

"You  are,  and  always  will  be,  a  child,"  she  scolded, 


70  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

and  irritably  threw  the  duster  on  the  sofa  with  so  much 
spirit  that  two  of  Auntie's  favorites  scampered  off  in  a. 
great  fright. 

"  Shame  on  you,  for  making  sport  of  so  worthy  a  man; 
it  is  fortunate  that  mother  does  not  see  you." 

"Oh,  Ferra!"  bantered  the  merry  creature,  "  if  I  did 
not  desire  a  much  better  fate  for  you,  I  would  advise 
your  taking  him  yourself,  but — " 

"Charlotte,  you  know  I  do  not  like  any  jesting  on 
that  subject.  I  shall  never  marry  again.  I  have  told 
you  so  a  hundred  times.  I  shall  remain  with  Gerhardt." 

"  I  am  very  sure  Gerhardt  will  not  require  that 
sacrifice  of  you, "said  Aunt  Edith,  pleasantly.  "  Gerhardt 
is  not  in  the  least  an  egotist." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  say,  Auntie,"  assented  Lotta; 
"  and  one  of  these  fine  days,  Gerhardt  will  come  and 
present  to  you  a  sweet  little  bride, and  then — "  She  gave 
a  saucy  little  titter,  and  turned  abruptly  around. 

"  Gerhardt  is  too  sensible,  thank  God,"  rejoined  Ferra, 
now  thoroughly  provoked.  "  He  knows  how  ill  he  is,  and 
will  not  make  any  woman  unhappy;  he  is  much  too 
honorable  for  that." 

"  You  take  an  entirely  false  view,  Ferra,"  interposed 
Aunt  Edith,  letting  her  knitting  rest  for  a  moment.  "As 
I  said  before,  I  do  not  regard  him  as  ill,  and  even  if  he 
were,  why  should  not  an  invalid  find  a  loving  companion? 
Gerhardt  is  made  for  a  happy  family  life,  and  if  a  young 
girl  loves  him,  and  can  say  to  his  question:  'I  love  thee 
as  thou  art,  and  will  be  thine  in  sickness  and  need,  as  in 
joy  and  happiness,'  why  should  you  object,  Ferra?  And 
then,  my  child,  you  contradict  yourself  in  your  princi- 
ples— you  desire  to  bind  your  young  sister  to  an  old 
man  who  should  be  thinking,  surely,  much  more  of 
dying  than  of  wooing;  and  yet  you  would  deny  any  hap- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  71 

piness  to  Gerhardt,  who,  although  not  in  robust  health, 
is  not  ninety  years  old." 

A  smile  played  around  Aunt's  lips  as  she  concluded; 
she  did  not  look  at  any  of  us,  but  stroked  her  Minka. 

"  Am  I  not  right?"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 

Ferra  impatiently  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  felt  that  Lotta  would  be  supported  in  her  obstinacy 
here!"  she  said,  sharply;  "that  is  why  I  did  not  wish  her 
to  come.  I  think  there  is  a  great  difference  between 
Lotta  and  Gerhardt.  He  is  heir  to  a  rich  estate,  and 
Lotta  has  only  her  moderate — very  moderate — fortune 
to  live  upon.  She  must  marry  if  she  wishes  to  continue 
to  live  as  she  has  been  accustomed.  She  can  not  wait 
for  the  Prince  only  existing  in  romantic  stories;  and  the 
silly  ideal  that  a  young  girl  has  of  one  all-absorbing  pas- 
sion— one  only  great  love  of  a  woman's  heart — must  be 
given  up,  for  it  is  all  nonsense;  that  is  my  opinion.  In 
that  I  am  sure  you  will  agree,  dear  Aunt." 

She  was  standing  up,  and  the  small  hands,  covered 
with  many  rings,  moved  restlessly  as  she  talked.  Aunt 
Edith  had  become  suddenly  quite  pale. 

"  Stop,  Ferra,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  imperative  voice; 
"  that  is  enough!  I  have  not  forced  my  advice  upon  you; 
I  was  consulted.  I  am  not  afraid  of  Charlotte;  she  will 
know  how  to  find  her  way  alone.  I  beg  you  to  consider 
the  conversation  as  ended." 

She  got  up  and  went  into  her  sleeping-room. 

"  B-r-r!"  said  Ferra,  as  the  door  closed  behind  her,  "  I 
have  done  a  fine  thing  now;  but  what  did  she  want  to 
make  me  angry  for?" 

Charlotte  cast  an  astonished  look  at  her  sister,  and 
then  started  to  go  to  her  Aunt;  but  before  she  could 
reach  the  door  it  was  bolted  from  within  with  a  loud 
snap. 


72  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  What  were  you  saying,  Ferra?"  asked  Charlotte. 

"  Nothing,  more  than  that  your  Aunt  has  no  right  to 
pass  judgment  on  such  things,  for  in  the  matter  of  her 
own  marriage,  she  conducted  herself  in  such  a  stupid, 
brain-cracked  manner  that  she  compromised  herself  and 
her  whole  family!  You  need  not  know  any  more;  if  you 
should,  you  might  find  your  reverence  for  her  seriously 
wavering.  Will  you  come  and  drive  with  me?" 

Charlotte  did  not  move.  All  the  blood  seemed  to 
have  left  her  face,  only  her  eyes  had  a  strange  sparkle. 

"  I  wish  to  know  what  Aunt  Edith  did,"  she  said, 
quickly. 

Ferra,  who  was  indifferently  examining  the  pictures 
over  Aunt  Edith's  sewing-table,  bent  back  the  ivy  leaves 
from  a  portrait  that  was  carefully  concealed  under  them. 

"There  he  is,"  she  said,  mockingly;  "but  really  it  is 
not  a  proper  subject  for  children,"  she  added.  "Aunt  was 
forbidden  to  marry  him,  and  she  ran  away  from  her 
parents'  house  in  the  night." 

"That  is  not  true,  Ferra!"  shrieked  Lotta;  "that  is 
not  true!  Say  no — please,  please!" 

She  threw  both  arms  around  her  sister's  neck,  and 
looked  her  passionately  in  the  face. 

"There,  there,  my  treasure,"  said  Ferra,  soothingly, 
stroking  her  sister's  blonde  hair,  "  it  is  a  fact.  Gottlieb, 
the  old  sneak,  was  the  one  who  helped  her  to  escape. 
You  know  already  to  what  unhappiness  the  fatal  affair 
has  led,  for  discord  and  dissension  have  dwelt  in  our 
house  for  many  years.  But  release  me;  you  are  smoth- 
ering me.  Are  you  going  to  drive  with  me  or  not?" 

"No,  no,"  murmured  Charlotte,  withdrawing  her 
arms. 

"Then  remain,  you  foolish  thing!" 

And  without  deigning  to  bestow  a  glance  on  me,  she 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  73 

left  the  room.  A  kitten  clung  to  the  long  train  of  her 
thin  summer  dress,  which  she  angrily  shook  off;  then 
throwing  a  last  glance  at  Lotta,  in  which  scorn  was 
mixed  with  anxiety,  she  vanished.  Charlotte  gazed  after 
her  with  an  almost  expressionless  face. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  in  the  great  room, 
then  Charlotte  stretched  out  her  hands  to  me. 

"  Lena,  come,"  she  whispered,  "  show  me  your  place 
in  the  cloister  garden.  I  do  not  wish  to  see  Aunt  Edith 
now;  I  am  too  unhappy.  Everything  seems  all  wrong. 
It  seems  as  if  I  had  committed  some  evil  act  myself. 
Come,  come." 

She  drew  me  hastily  out  through  the  dim  corridor,  and 
down  the  dust-covered  stairs.  Her  arm  was  around  my 
waist,  and  she  held  me  firmly  to  her;  and  so  we  walked 
under  the  stone-arched  passage,  with  the  hanging  vines, 
out  into  the  fresh  evening  air  of  the  garden.  Purple- 
red  lights  fell  through  the  high  trees  on  our  path,  and 
flickered  over  Charlotte's  beautiful  face,  that  had  so  sud- 
denly changed  its  expression.  The  grass  had  been 
freshly  mown,  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  its  fragrance, 
and  when  we  sat  down  under  the  linden,  near  the  old 
grave-stone,  Charlotte  asked: 

"  Lena,  do  you  believe  what  my  sister  related?  I  do 
not  believe  it,  or  there  is  another  side  to  tell."  Then 
she  was  silent,  and  looked  thoughtfully  out  into  the 
garden. 

"  I  have  loved  her  so,  loved  her  like  a  mother,"  she 
continued,  half  aloud,  and  a  delicate  flush  spread  over 
her  face  at  these  words.  "  See,  Lena,  you  can  not  think 
how  much  she  is  to  me,  and  it  can  not  pain  you  as  it 
does  me  when  Ferra — "  She  must  have  entirely  for- 

(74) 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  75 

gotten  that  only  a  few  days  before  she  had  lamented 
over  the  lack  of  a  family  scandal. 

"  No,  do  not  tell  me  anything,"  she  begged,  as  I 
opened  my  mouth  to  say  to  her  that  Gottlieb  did  really 
secretly  drive  Aunt  Edith  away  one  night,  though  for 
what  reason  I  was  ignorant.  "  You  do  not  know  her 
well  enough;  let  us  be  quiet;  I  want  to  get  into  a  better 
mood;"  and  so  we  sat,  silent,  buried  in  our  thoughts. 

Charlotte  picked  from  a  mallow  stalk  that  grew  near 
her  one  purple-red  bloom  after  another,  and  braided 
them  into  a  wreath,  and  I  sat  as  still  as  a  mouse,  and 
mended,  in  imagination,  George's  little  velvet  jacket, 
and  sewed  on  a  beautiful  little  button;  and,  as  I  saw  him 
smile  with  pleasure,  my  thoughts  went  to  Cousin  Ger- 
hardt,  and  the  idea  came  to  me  that  I  would  ask  him  if 
my  brother  might  not  spend  his  autumn  vacation  with 
me  in  the  old  cloister.  And  then  I  saw  us  both  ram- 
bling around  together;  I  saw  him  sitting  on  one  of  Gott- 
lieb's old  horses,  and  tasting  a  thousand  unknown  and 
unexpected  pleasures.  And  when  I  had  finished  paint- 
ing this  picture,  and  had  vowed  to  myself,  though  with 
beating  heart,  to  venture  to  make  the  request,  I  kneeled 
down  on  the  old  grave-stone,  and  looked  dreamily 
between  the  trees  out  into  the  garden. 

I  scarcely  noticed  how  Charlotte  pulled  and  fussed  over 
my  hair,  and  then  began  to  plunder  the  mallow  stalk  again. 
All  sorts  of  romantic  nonsense  shot  through  my  mind.  I 
thought  of  Aunt  Edith  as  a  nun  that  a  knight  had  loved, 
as  in  Christiana's  stories,  and  how  she  went  about  sorrow- 
ful in  the  cloister  garden,  until  one  dark  night  he  came 
for  her,  and  they  rode  away  to  his  castle. 

Green  are  the  woods  and  valleys, 

The  mountains  high  and  bold, 

My  sweetheart  is  a  hunter — 

I  love  him  thousand-fold, 


76  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

sang  Charlotte,  in  her  soft  and  very  sweet  voice.  I 
turned  around  to  her;  she  had  placed  a  mallow  wreath 
on  her  head,  and  the  sweet  face  looked  almost  glorified 
in  its  expression  under  the  glow  of  the  dark-red  blooms. 
She  had  clasped  her  knees  with  the  slender  hands,  and 
moved  her  lithe  body  with  the  rhythm  of  the  simple 

melody. 

Green  are  the  woods  and  valleys, 
The  mountains  high  and  bold, 
My  sweetheart  is  a  hunter — 
And  I  love  him  thousand-fold , 

she  sang  again,  but  now  loud,  and  almost  defiantly; 
then  she  stepped  past  me,  and  walked  slowly  down  the 
path,  with  bowed  head. 

I  followed  her  with  my  eyes,  but  did  not  dare  go  after 
her.  At  last  she  vanished  entirely  in  the  thick  shrub- 
bery of  the  garden;  only  now  and  then  her  golden  head 
would  gleam  for  a  moment  through  the  green  branches 
of  the  less  dense  foliage. 

I  sat  alone  now  in  my  favorite  little  place;  before  me 
lay  the  garden,  bathed  in  the  rich,  rosy  glow  of  the  set- 
ting sun.  Even  the  gray  walls  and  the  columns  of  the 
cross-walk  were  roseate.  No  sound,  no  breath  broke 
the  deep  quiet,  the  deathly  stillness,  and  desertion  that 
filled  the  place. 

I  settled  myself  back  comfortably  on  the  old  grave- 
stone and  threw  my  arms  around  the  trunk  of  a  cypress 
tree;  Charlotte  would  soon  come  back,  and  my  thoughts 
busied  themselves  again  with  the  moment  when  I  should 
make  my  request  to  Cousin  Gerhardt,  to  let  George  come 
here  in  his  vacation. 

In  my  mind,  I  mounted  the  stairs  of  the  villa,  and 
timidly  entered  his  room. 

"  Dear  Cousin,"  I  said  aloud,  "  I  have  such  a  great 
favor  to  ask  of  you.  Please,  please  consent  that  George 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  77 

may  visit  me  in  his  vacation;  I  have  such  a  longing  for 
him,  and  I  must  also  mend  up  all  his  things." 

At  this  moment  a  dark  shadow  fell  on  my  small  per- 
sonality; I  threw  my  hands  out,  startled,  for  in  front  of 
me,  right  there  under  the  linden,  so  tall  that  the  leaves 
on  its  branches  brushed  his  blonde  hair,  stood  my  Cousin 
Gerhardt,  smiling  down  on  me. 

"  Well,  taking  into  consideration  those  last  words,  it  is 
very  evident  the  request  must  be  granted,"  said  he,  in 
his  deep,  rich  voice;  "so  in  the  autumn,  Cousin,  we  shall 
see;  but  how  can  we  get  the  little  man  here?" 

I  was  covered  with  confusion.  That  I  had  been 
carrying  on  my  imaginary  conversation  with  my  Cousin 
aloud,  never  entered  my  mind;  but  the  joy  that  my 
dearest  was  really  coming  to  me  overcame  every  other 
thought,  and  I  fairly  shouted:  "  O,  Cousin,  dearest  Cousin, 
you  really  will  allow  George  to  come?" 

I  seized  his  hand  and  hung  onto  his  arm  like  a  very 
child. 

"  O,  that  will  be  lovely,  that  will  be  a  great  joy,  but — 
what  will  Aunt  Edith  say?  Will  she  have  him,  and " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  he  said,  soothingly;  "  but  now, 
do  me  a  reciprocal  service,  Cousin;  I  am  seeking  Char- 
lotte; she  should  be  with  Aunt  Edith,  but  on  going  to  her, 
I  found  all  the  doors  locked.  The  maid  said  the  young 
ladies  were  in  the  cloister  garden,  and  true,  in  the  most 
melancholy  corner  of  the  whole  garden  I  find  one;  but 
where  may  the  other  be?" 

"Here,  Brother,  here!"  cried  Charlotte;  and  in  the 
next  moment  had  her  arms  around  his  neck.  "  Say,  quick, 
how  are  you?  What  brings  you  here?  Is  everything  well?" 

"  Now  Lottchen,  on  the  one  hand  good,  on  the  other 
hand — let  us  leave  that.  I  have  a  thousand  greetings 
for  you  from  Robert,  and  you  are  to  carry  Aunt  Edith 


78  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

the  news  that  he  has  been  duly  appointed  chief  forester 
in  FOlkerode.  I  was  not  to  tell  her,  and  he  would  not 
write  it;  it  was  his  wish  that  she  should  know  of  it  from 
your  lips." 

Charlotte's  beautiful  face  suddenly  glowed  as  rosy  as 
the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  her  blue  eyes  glistened 
with  joy.  She  raised  herself  on  her  tip-toes,  pressed  a 
kiss  on  her  brother's  blonde  beard,  and  then  ran  as  swift 
as  a  roe,  over  the  grass-plat  and  path,  and  soon  her 
figure  vanished  under  the  arch  of  the  cross-walk.  Ger- 
hardt  looked  after  her  with  a  smile,  and  then  turned  to 
me,  and  sat  down  on  the  stone  bench,  evidently  with 
the  intention  of  giving  his  sister  an  undisturbed  moment 
with  her  aunt.  "  Is  this  your  favorite  place?"  he  asked. 

I  assented. 

"Would  you  not  like  the  park  better?  It  is  much  too 
melancholy  here  for  such  a  young  girl." 

"  No,  I  like  it  better  here,  because  I  never  meet  any- 
one here,  and  it  is  exactly  as  if  this  garden  belonged 
entirely  to  me." 

"  So  you  have  a  propensity  for  solitude?"  he  said, 
banteringly.  "Who  keeps  the  little  spot  in  such  fine 
order — you,  Cousin?" 

I  nodded,  and  looked  up  at  him  shyly,  because  I  was 
afraid  that  he  was  laughing  at  me.  But  he  was  looking 
so  thoughtfully  at  the  gray  sandstone  figure  under  the 
ivy,  that  I  felt  he  was  thinking  of  something  quite  differ- 
ent from  what  he  was  speaking. 

Quietly  I  took  my  place  again  on  the  old  grave-stone, 
and  so  we  sat  motionless.  Once  I  had  the  feeling  that 
he  was  looking  at  me;  and,  when  I  turned  my  head,  I 
saw  his  eyes  resting  upon  me;  then  he  hastily  passed  his 
hand  over  his  face,  and  began  to  draw  figures  in  the 
sand  with  a  small  stick. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  79 

"  Now  we  will  go,  Cousin,"  he  said,  suddenly  getting  up. 
"  Come,  it  will  be  late  before  I  can  obtain  any  rest; 
besides,  I  have  not  yet  seen  my  mother,  who  is  expect- 
ing me." 

I  got  up  and  walked  beside  him  down  the  dusky  walk. 
He  did  not  say  anything,  and  we  silently  crossed  the 
arched  passage  of  the  old  cloister. 

"Take  care  of  the  dark  stairway,  the  steps  are  high," 
he  said,  warningly,  as  I  hurried  on  before  him.  A  fear 
had  taken  possession  of  me,  a  terror,  in  the  weird  old 
building,  in  this  ghostly  light.  I  felt  as  if  an  inde- 
scribable something  lurked  behind  each  stair  pillar,  and 
might  at  any  moment  seize  me.  I  wanted  to  say  to 
him,  "  Give  me  your  hand?" 

But  that  would  have  been  too  ridiculous.  And  then, 
as  I  went  to  spring  up  two  steps  at  once,  in  my  haste  to 
catch  up  with  him,  as  he  was  ahead  of  me,  I  felt  a  sharp 
pain  in  my  left  foot  and  sank  on  my  knee. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  that,"  he  said,  turning  around  at  my 
cry  of  pain,  and  hurrying  down  to  me.  "  Does  it  hurt 
you  much?  Can  you  walk?  No?  Then  I  riust  carry 
you." 

And  like  a  feather  he  took  me  up,  and  carried  me  up 
the  stairs. 

"  O,  Cousin,  and  you  are  ill?"  I  laughed  suddenly, 
half  from  embarrassment  over  the  strange  situation  in 
which  I  found  myself,  and  more  from  amusement  over 
the  evident  falsity  of  that  assertion. 

"Who  has  said  that?"  he  inquired,  as  we  reached  the 
upper  hall. 

"Only  Ferra.     But  it  is  not  true,  is  it?" 

"  No,"  he  replied,  simply.  "  I  have  been  ill,  but  I  think 
I  am  quite  well  now.  Who  has  been  adorning  you  this 
afternoon,  little  Cousin?"  he  said,  after  a  short  pause, 


80  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

just  as  we  had  reached  Aunt  Edith's  door;  and  in  the 
dim  light  from  the  old-fashioned  hanging  lamp  under  the 
arched  ceiling,  I  saw  his  blonde  head  bent  down  to  me, 
and  his  eyes  very  close  to  mine. 

"  Adorned  me? "  I  repeated,  questioningly,  and  strove 
at  the  same  time  to  get  down  from  his  arms,  but  in  this 
I  did  not  succeed. 

"  Charmingly  adorned,"  he  repeated,  and  dexterously 
opened  the  door  to  Auntie's  sitting-room,  and  at  the  same 
moment  Charlotte's  joyous  laughter  met  me. 

"  Have  you  a  little  fawn  to  sell,  Gerhardt? "  she  called 
out,  springing  up  from  the  sofa  where  she  had  been  sit- 
ting beside  Aunt  Edith. 

"  I  will  get  down!  "  I  cried,  almost  weeping,  for  even 
Auntie  laughed  heartily. 

But  Gerhardt  held  me  fast,  and  carried  me  straight  to  the 
long  pier  glass,  and  one  look  showed  me  a  well  known 
little  brown  face,  that  looked  very  unnatural  under  afire- 
red  wreath  of  flowers;  indignant,  I  tore  it  from  my  head 
and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 

"  O,  fie,  Charlotte!"  I  cried,  angrily,  and  limped  over 
to  Auntie,  who  took  me  in  her  arms. 

"  And  you  did  not  notice  when  I  put  the  wreath  on 
your  head?"  laughed  Charlotte.  "O,  you  dreamy  little 
piece  of  humanity." 

"The  little  dreamer  is  a  patient  now,"  corrected 
Gerhardt.  "  She  has  hurt  her  foot.  Shall  I  send  the 
old  shepherd  to  you,  little  Cousin?"  he  asked,  smil- 
ing. 

"  Go  away  with  your  shepherd,"  declared  Aunt  Edith, 
"we  can  manage  this  alone,  can  we  not,  little  one?  But 
now,  many  thanks,  dear  Gerhardt,  fcr  the  news  you 
brought  me;  this  is  the  first  joyful  day  I  have  ha<?  for 
many  long  years." 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  81 

She  had  taken  Gerhardt's  hand  in  hers  as  she  spoke, 
and  looked  at  him,  deeply  moved. 

"You  can  not  know,"  she  continued,  softly,  "how 
happy  it  makes  me  to  know  he  will  be  in  Folkerode — in 
Folkerode.  But  now  go;  your  mother  will  also  be  anxious 
to  have  news  of  Joachim.  Nothing  very  serious  has  hap- 
pened, Gerhardt?  "  she  said,  earnestly.  His  face  dark- 
ened instantly. 

"  Yes,  something  very  serious,  Aunt,  and  which  troubles 
me  greatly,"  he  answered,  and  shook  in  a  firm  grasp  the 
hand  of  the  old  lady;  then  he  took  Charlotte's  in  his, 
and  giving  me  an  earnest,  kind  nod,  he  drew  her  out  of 
the  room.  A  short  half  hour  after  I  lay,  with  carefully 
bandaged  foot,  on  the  sofa,  and  followed  with  my  glance 
the  neat,  dainty  figure  of  my  aunt,  as  she  walked  rest- 
lessly to  and  fro.  The  fine  face  with  the  delicate 
flush,  and  the  eyes  with  a  light  in  them  they  had  not 
known  for  years,  had  grown  strangely  youthful. 

She  went  from  the  sleeping- room  to  the  sitting-room; 
she  opened  the  drawers  in  commode  and  press,  and 
stood  thoughtfully  before  them,  as  in  a  half  dream,  while 
I  watched  her  aimless  bustle.  As  for  myself,  I  had  the 
strange  sensation  of  being  no  more  the  same  person 
I  was  in  the  morning — as  if  I  were  grown  up,  and 
had  become  a  reasonable,  responsible,  young  woman, 
although,  to  be  sure,  I  had  behaved  very  childishly  that 
evening.  Whatever  the  feeling  was,  I  could  not  explain 
it.  I  pressed  Minka,  who  lay  near  me,  to  my  heart  and 
whispered  to  her:  "Cousin  Gerhardt  has  promised  me 
that  George  shall  come,  and  what  a  dear  little  boy  he  is." 

Aunt  Edith  had  no  eyes  for  her  pets  to-day.  She  took 
Robert's  picture  from  the  wall,  and  sitting  down  in  the 
easy-chair  near  me,  held  it  in  her  folded  hands  and 
gazed  tenderly  upon  it. 


82  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

"  See,  Lena,"  she  began,  "  in  this  picture  he  is  only  a 
child,  and  you  will  see  what  a  dignified,  stately  fellow 
the  new  Herr  Opperforester  has  become.  Yes,  yes, 
Lena;  he  has  the  same  place  his  father  once  had;  he  will 
live  again  in  the  house  where  he  was  born,  and  where 
his  mother  lived  the  dearest  years  of  her  life.  I  can  not 
tell  you  how  happy  it  makes  me.  The  dear  God  is  just, 
child,  and  that  which  He  has  given  me  this  evening  com- 
pensates me  for  all  I  have  suffered." 

And  as  she  pressed  the  picture  tenderly  against  her 
cheek  in  proud  mother-love,  the  bitter  longing  seized 
me  for  the  true,  true  love  that  my  George  and  I  had 
lost  forever. 

In  the  meantime,  Auntie  had  carried  the  picture  away, 
and  as  she  hung  it  in  its  place,  there  came  a  knock  on 
the  door,  and  old  Gottlieb  walked  in. 

"Good  evening.Gnadige  Frau,"  he  said,  remaining  at 
the  door,  and  began,  in  his  peculiar  suppressed  voice,  to 
give  an  account  of  the  different  commissions  Aunt  Edith 
had  charged  him  with. 

They  mostly  concerned  sick  people,  and  money  dis- 
tributions among  the  poor.  He  held  a  package  of  little 
books  under  his  arm,  and  three  or  four  medicine  flasks 
in  his  hand. 

"  The  doctor  says  old  Frau  Neumann  must  have  a  half- 
glass  of  wine  every  day,"  he  finally  concluded,  "  and  I 
thought * 

"  Certainly,  Gottlieb,"  interrupted  Aunt  Edith,  "  she 
shall  have  it.  How  is  Mischen  getting  along  in  the  city?" 

The  old  man  scratched  his  ear.  "Well,  Madam,  not  very 
well.  Bah!  always  high-flown,  fine  dresses,  new  straw 
hat,  like  a  great  lady.  Na,  but  I  gave  her  a  piece  of  my 
mind,"  he  said,  significantly,  to  himself,  and  .raised  his 
heavy  white  eyebrows. 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  83 

"I  can  well  believe  that,"  laughed  Aunt  Edith.  "  You 
would  not  be  very  courteous  to  the  poor  thing,  I  fear; 
but  spare  her.  She  is  still  young,  and  she  has  inherited 
from  her  grandparents  a  good  share  of  their  stiff-necked 
honesty.  Kind  differs  not  from  kind." 

"H'm,  so?"  murmured  the  old  man;  "  I  don't  count 
on  it.  Who  knows?  It  is  to  be  hoped  so." 

"  Anything  more,  Gottlieb?"  asked  Aunt  Edith. 

"  Nothing  further,  exactly,  Madam,"  he  answered,"  only 
— you  will  not  take  it  amiss  that  Lottchen — Fraulein 
Charlotte,"  he  corrected  himself  hastily- "  has  told 
me  that  Herr  Robert  has  been  appointed  high-forester 
in  Folkerode!  Ah!  Madam,  I  am  not  one  of  those  who 
presume,  because  they  have  served  long  in  a  family,  but 
to-day — I  can  truly  say,  nothing  has  given  me  so  much 
pleasure  for  many  a  year." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Gottlieb,  we  are  old  friends," 
said  Aunt  Edith,  and  her  slender  white  fingers  were  laid 
in  the  rough  palm  of  the  honest  old  hand.  "  My  friend- 
ship has  cost  you  much,  Gottlieb." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it.Frau  Berka,  do  not  speak  of  it." 
He  turned  away,  and  a  pleased  light  spread  over  his 
rugged  face.  "  If  it  was  to  do  over  again,  I  would  do  just 
as  I  did,  even  though  I  knew  the  consequences,  because  I 
was  sorry  for  you." 

"  Yes,  old  Gottlieb,  I  have  reason  to  think  of  it  all 
to-day,"  nodded  Auntie,  and  went  to  the  table  and 
poured  out  a  glass  of  wine.  "  There,  drink  to  my  boy. 
I  shall  never  forget  that  night  all  my  life  long." 

"  Neither  shall  I,  Madam,  neither  shall  I.  What  a 
storm!  You  could  not  see  your  hand  before  your  eyes, 
and  the  wind  blew  such  a  gale  that  I  thought  horse  and 
wagon  and  all  would  go  down  the  mountain;  and  then 
the  anxiety  for  fear  that  I  should  not  get  home  again 


84  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

before  the  household  were  on  their  legs.  And  as  I  thought 
everything  was  going  so  fine,  and  knew  you  were  safe 
with  the  old  grandmother,  and  was  about  to  make  my 
team  comfortable,  and  put  away  the  things,  there  the 
devil  sent — to  this  day  I  don't  know  how — Frau  von 
Demphoff  out  in  the  early  morning.  She  came  straight 
across  the  yard,  in  a  big  calico  apron,  as  if  she  were 
going  to  the  milk  cellar — I  must  say,  the  Frau  was 
always  busy  and  active.  My  mouth  dropped  open  when 
she  called  out  tome:  'Where  have  you  been  so  early, 
Gottlieb?  How  the  horses  look!'  My!  Whenever  I 
think  of  it—" 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Gottlieb;  let  us  forget  it."  Aunt  Edith 
walked  up  and  down,  much  moved  by  his  remem- 
brances. The  old  man  had  come  farther  into  the  room. 

"No  offense  meant,  Madam,"  he  said,  deprecatingly; 
"but  it  came  so  fresh  before  my  mind.  I  never  felt  worse 
in  my  whole  life,  except  when  my  old  wife  died,  as  at 
that  time  when  I  had  to  go  to  my  master's  room  and 
give  an  account  of  my  night's  journey.  O,  my  good- 
ness!" 

Long  after,  my  aunt  kept  up  her  restless  pacing;  even 
until  the  cloister  clock  had  struck  midnight,  and  I  had 
been  in  my  great  canopy  bed  for  two  hours.  I  lay  there 
awake;  I  could  not  sleep;  my  foot  pained  me  some,  and, 
moreover,  my  imagination  ran  riot;  a  thousand  things 
chased  one  another  through  my  brain;  I  asked  myself  a 
thousand  questions  I  could  not  answer. 

All  my  life  till  now  passed  before  me  in  confused 
order,  and  everything  seemed  to  group  itself  about  Aunt 
Edith. 

She  was  now  in  her  sleeping-room;  the  door  opening 
into  mine  was,  as  usual,  open,  and  a  broad  stream  of 
light  fell  on  the  checkered  floor  in  my  room;  a  shadow 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  85 

passed  in  regular  beat  between  the  rooms,  and  the  light 
step  of  the  old  lady  sounded  uninterruptedly. 

There  was  something  in  this  restless  walking  which 
excited  me.  At  last  I  fell  into  a  condition  between  sleep- 
ing and  waking,  and  that  moving  figure  was  no  longer 
that  of  my  old  aunt,  but  a  young,  blooming  girl  that  was 
actively  and  secretly  preparing  to  leave  her  father's 
house;  but  why?  And  then  she  appeared  to  me  as  she 
was  now — pale,  her  hair  silvered  by  many,  many  winters; 
and  "Cats'  aunt,"  I  whispered,  softly;  "Cats'  aunt." 

Then  the  dear  old  face  bent  over  my  head:  "Are  you 
not  asleep  yet,  Lena?" 

I  shook  my  head  and  threw  my  arms  around  her  neck. 
"  Auntie,"  I  asked,  "  dear  Auntie,  why  did  Gottlieb 
drive  you  away  so  secretly  that  night,  and  why  did  you 
come  back  again  and  become  '  Cats'  aunt?'  " 

"  Ah,  child,  you  are  much  too  young  to  hear  such 
sorrowful  stories.  Sleep  now,  child,"  she  commanded, 
and  pressed  a  kiss  on  my  forehead. 

Then  she  went  into  her  room,  and  soon  extinguished 
the  light. 

But  confused  dreams  hovered  around  my  bed  or  stole 
under  the  faded  silken  curtains.  Dark-red  flowers  were 
there,  and  Gerhardt's  eyes  looked  so  strangely  down 
into  mine;  and  then  .between,  I  heard  Charlotte's  singing: 

"  My  sweetheart  is  a  hunter, 
And  I  love  him  thousand-fold," 

and  in  the  same  moment  I  was  entirely  awake. 
Auntie's  Robert  was  also  a  hunter!  Like  a  flash,  this 
fact  illumined  the  chaos  of  my  thoughts. 

"  O,  dear  Charlotte,  now  I  know  something!"  I  said, 
almost  aloud;  and  soon  I  slept  soundly  until  morning. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Since  that  night  weeks  have  passed,  and  they  brought 
me  only  joy.  George  was  here,  and  I  saw  with  delight 
how  his  pale  face  grew  brown  and  rosy  in  the  health- 
giving  country  air.  The  beautiful  boy  had  taken  all 
hearts  by  storm.  Even  Ferra  sometimes  pressed  his 
little  brown  face,  with  the  dark  Southern  eyes,  against 
her  cheek,  and  called  him  her  little  page. 

Charlotte,  however,  in  her  extremely  amiable,  yet  mis- 
chievous way,  accused  Ferra  of  coquetry.  Ferra  knew 
very  well  that  near  the  dark  complexion  of  the  boy  her 
delicate,  fair  beauty  was  doubly  enhanced.  Ferra  bore 
such  little  attacks  with  admirable  gentleness;  that  is, 
she  contented  herself  by  calling  Charlotte  enfant  terrible, 
and  then  lapsing  into  silence,  well  knowing  that  in  a 
word  contest  with  her  young  sister  she  would  be  badly 
worsted. 

Charlotte  had  entirely  recovered  her  good  temper. 
Gerhardt  had  given  a  courteous  but  decided  refusal  to 
her  old  suitor,  saying,  "  she  was  entirely  too  young,"  and 
the  rejected  lover  had  gone  on  a  journey,  of  course 
with  the  assurance  that  he  should  not  give  up  the  hope 
of  yet  possessing  the  young  lady. 

But  for  the  time  being  he  was  disposed  of,  and  Char- 
lotte troubled  herself  no  more  about  this  "spectre,"  as 
she  named  him.  Ferra,  however,  seemed  to  share  his 
hopes,  for  she  always  spoke  of  him  with  a  certain  famil- 
iarity, as  if  he  already  belonged  to  the  family. 

(86) 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  87 

At  such  times  it  was  most  amusing  to  watch  Lotta. 
She  had  a  very  successful  manner  of  appearing  not  to 
hear  anything  of  the  conversation,  that  worked  uncom- 
monly well.  Usually  she  sang  softly  to  herself,  and, 
exactly  at  the  moment  when  Ferra  was  at  the  climax  of 
her  speech,  she  would  interrupt  her  with  such  a  far- 
fetched question  or  remark,  that  the  artistically  arranged 
dissertation  of  her  sister  fell  as  flat  as  a  collapsed  house 
of  cards. 

In  that  time  I  was  often  asked  to  the  villa,  almost 
always  by  Charlotte.  Only  once  I  saw  Aunt  Demphoff — 
when  I  went  to  present  my  little  brother  to  her.  I  had 
some  difficulty  in  getting  him  to  come  with  me,  for,  in 
his  child's  logic,  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  say 
"  how  do  you  do"  to  the  wicked  aunt  who  hated  his 
mother. 

"  You  have  no  orders  to  give  here,  Lena,"  he  insisted. 
"  Everything  belongs  to  Cousin  Gerhardt.  I  will  not  go 
to  her." 

"  You  must,  or  you  will  displease  our  good  cousin,"  I 
said;  and  then  he  passionately  threw  himself  into  the 
arms  of  Gerhardt,  who  would  hardly  let  the  boy  go  from 
him,  so  that  I  was  almost  jealous  before  I  succeeded  in 
carrying  my  point. 

It  was  curious  to  see  the  two  together — the  tall, 
commanding-looking  woman  and  the  little  boy.  His 
brown  face  had  become  pale,  his  little  hands,  tightly 
clenched,  were  hidden  behind  him,  and  under  their  long 
lashes  his  eyes  looked  up  with  an  inimitable  mixture  of 
contempt  and  childish  curiosity. 

"  George  has  come  to  see  you,"  I  said,  timidly. 

The  cold,  impassive  face  did  not  change.  It  was  the 
same  room  in  which  I  had  seen  her  first,  and  the  same 
feeling  of  being  gradually  frozen  possessed  me. 


88  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

She  did  not  answer;  the  gaze  that  she  gave  to  the 
little  upturned  face  was  very  penetrating. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  she  asked. 

"  George  von  Demphoff,"  he  answered. 

"  How  old  are  you?  " 

"  Eight  years." 

Then  she  stepped  to  the  bell,  and  ordered  the  servant 
who  entered  to  bring  lemonade  and  cakes  into  the  next 
room,  and  to  inform  Fraulein  Charlotte  that  we  were 
there.  She  then  invited  us  to  go  into  the  said  adjoining 
room,  and  dismissed  us  with  the  remark  that  Charlotte 
would  soon  be  down. 

Nothing  would  have  kept  George  another  moment  in 
her  presence. 

He  rushed  out  of  the  door  and  vanished  sans  fa$on 
into  Gerhardt's  room,  because  our  cousin  had  said  he 
should  drive  with  him  into  the  fields. 

Charlotte,  who  had  come  into  the  room,  laughed 
heartily,  and  explained,  when  I  expressed  surprise  at  his 
knowledge  of  the  place,  that  Gerhardt,  the  first  day  the 
boy  had  arrived,  had  brought  him  into  the  villa,  and  the 
little  lad  had  been  there  nearly  every  day  since. 

"  Mamma's  refreshments  seem  to  be  quite  disdained," 
she  concluded.  "She  will  be  astonished;  Joachim 
would  have  had  every  little  crumb  eaten  by  this  time. 
Apropos,  he  is  coming  very  soon  with  a  half-dozen 
comrades  to  hunt;  then  you  will  have  plenty  of  life  in 
the  old  cloister,  for  they  will  all  sleep  there — there 
is  no  place  here  for  them.  And  Ferra's  nerves,  O, 
heavens!" 

But  there  was  something  to  happen  which  was  more 
interesting  than  the  hunt;  Aunt  Edith  was  expecting  her 
son.  He  was  coming  for  the  first  time  since  this  new 
dignity  of  high-forester  had  been  bestowed  upon  him. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  89 

It  was  a  delight  to  see  the  expression  cf  quiet  joy  on 
Aunt  Edith's  face,  as  she  went  about  making  prepara- 
tions for  the  coming  of  her  darling.  And  she  had  no 
reproof  for  Charlotte,  who,  in  celebration  of  this 
expected  event,  arranged  scarlet  neck-ribbons  for  all  the 
cats,  and  hung  a  little  bell  to  each  one.  The  cats,  while 
being  arrayed  in  their  decoration,  kept  up  a  frightful 
mewing  and  hissing,  and  afterward  rushed  pell-mell,  in 
great  fright,  to  their  mistress.  But  old  Gottlieb,  who 
happened  to  be  going  through  the  room,  muttered  some- 
thing, as  we  were  indulging  ourselves  in  great  hilarity 
over  the  sight,  and  we  heard  him  say  to  Aunt:  "  Frau 
Berka,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  were  not  so  silly  and  child- 
ish in  our  young  days  as  young  people  are  to-day.  Now, 
just  hear  them!  " 

"Ah,  Gottlieb,  you  have  forgotten!  "  answered  Aunt 
Edith.  "  You  know  the  saying:  'A  boy  must  be  a  fool 
seven  years;'  if  he  misses  a  single  hour,  he  must  begin 
all  over  again — from  the  beginning." 

But  the  old  man  was  not  convinced. 

"  Nay,  nay,  everything  is  changed  in  the  present  day. 
In  our  days  young  people  did  not  dare  open  their 
mouths  except  when  their  father  sneezed,  and  then  they 
would  say  '  God  bless  you.' "  Whereupon  Charlotte  nat- 
urally sneezed  very  loud,  and  the  old  man,  with  unshaken 
earnestness,  called  out,  "  God  bless  you,  Fraulein  Char- 
lotte," without  seeing  the  joke. 

Gerhardt  came  sometimes  to  Aunt  Edith's.  After  the 
evening  that  I  was  so  careless  as  to  sprain  my  ankle,  he 
would  come  to  inquire  how  it  was  getting  along.  The 
red  wreath  that  I  had  so  angrily  thrown  away,  however, 
and  which  I  so  gladly  would  have  had  back  again,  had 
disappeared,  and  Auntie,  in  her  busy  preparations  for 
Robert,  could  not  spend  the  time  to  hunt  for  it,  but  she 


90  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

thought  Jette  must  have  swept  it  out,  as  she  had  never 
seen  it  since. 

George's  vacation  was  drawing  to  a  close.  He  begged  to 
be  permitted  to  stay  a  few  more  days  beyond  the  time  set 
for  his  return,  because,  as  he  betrayed  to  me,  Cousin  Ger- 
hardt  would  have  a  birthday;  he  was  not  to  tell,  however. 

"  Lena,  what  can  we  give  him?  "  he  asked  me. 

What  could  we?  We  must  give  something  to  Ger- 
hardt,  who  had  done  so  much  for  us,  and  had  given  us 
so  many  lovely  days  together.  George  was  resplendent 
in  a  brand-new  suit.  The  whole  class  would  envy  him, 
and  the  Frau  Doctor  and  Christiana  would  clap  their 
hands  when  they  saw  him. 

We  went  to  my  room  and  counted  over  my  little  sav- 
ings. I  had  20  groschen,  which  I  had  hoarded  like  a 
miser,  to  buy  George  a  Christmas  present  with,  but  that 
didn't  matter.  George  must  stand  back,  and  the  unself- 
ish little  boy  was  perfectly  willing. 

"  But  what  can  we  buy,  Lena?  " 

"Yes,  what?  "  I  thought  and  thought;  finally  a  happy 
idea  came  to  me. 

"  With  this  money  we  can  buy  some  wool,  George, 
and  I  will  knit  him  a  scarf — Cousin  Ferra  is  always  say- 
ing that  his  throat  troubles  him,  and  so  it  will  be  very 
welcome." 

This  proposal  met  with  George's  entire  approval.  The 
housekeeper  purchased,  secretly,  the  wool  for  me  in  the 
town,  and  in  my  favorite  place,  in  the  cloister  garden, 
I  knit  with  eager  haste,  a  long,  warm  birthday  present, 
while  George's  great  brown  eyes  followed  its  growth 
with  intense  interest. 

The  little  scene  at  the  presentation  of  the  gift  is  one 
of  my  dearest  remembrances. 

When  I  had  finished  it  and  was  instructing  George 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  91 

with  what  words  he  should  present  it  to  Cousin  Ger- 
hardt,  he  crossed  his  arms  on  his  back  and  declared, 
flatly,  as  he  had  not  knit  the  shawl,  and  his  money  did 
not  buy  the  wool,  he  had  no  right  to  give  it  to  him.  All 
coaxing,  prayers,  and  entreaties  did  not  shake  him  in  his 
resolution,  and  so,  if  our  cousin  was  to  have  his  present, 
I  must  undertake  the  solemn  act  myself. 

"  Dear  God,  let  it  be  very,  very  cold  to-morrow,"  I 
prayed  the  evening  before,  so  I  could  have  the  practical 
proof  of  the  usefulness  of  my  gift. 

And,  sure  enough,  there  dawned  such  a  windy,  damp, 
raw  September  day  that  we  shivered  with  cold  in  our 
cool  rooms.  George,  as  well  as  I,  was  delighted  at  the 
favorable  circumstances,  and  he  stood  the  entire  morn- 
ing at  the  window  watching  for  Cousin  Gerhardt,  who 
had  told  him  he  should  come  himself  to  inspect  the 
rooms  for  the  guests. 

As  I  sat  meditating  what  I  should  say  when  I  pre- 
sented my  scarf,  George  cried  out,  suddenly: 

"  He  is  coming!  He  is  coming,  Lena!  and  has  no  scarf." 

The  next  moment  I  was  out  of  the  room  and  already 
down  the  corridor,  on  my  arm  the  soft,  warm  present. 
I  leaned  over  the  balusters  of  the  stairs,  but  when  I  saw 
him  coming  up,  my  heart  began  to  beat  so  that  I  flew 
back  from  the  lighted  stairway,  into  a  dark  corner  of  the 
corridor.  There  I  stood,  with  such  a  distressed  look  on 
my  face  that  one  would  have  supposed,  that  instead  of 
having  good  wishes  for  him,  I  had  bad  tidings.  He  did 
not  see  me  until  he  stood  close  before  me,  and  his  seri- 
ous face  suddenly  brightened. 

"  Dear  Cousin,  I  would — I  wish  to  congratulate  you  on 
your  birthday,"  I  stammered,  "  and  George  and  I — wish 
to  give  you  this  scarf — when  it  is  windy  and  cold "' 

"  I  thank  you  very,  very  much,  little  Cousin,"  he  said, 


92  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

heartily,  and  took  both  my  hands;  "  this  is  an  unexpected 
pleasure.  But  now  you  must  wrap  the  scarf  about  me; 
it  is  just  such  weather  as  one  needs  to  be  bundled  up." 

He  stooped  away  down  to  me,  and  too  happy  for  words 
I  wound  the  soft  texture  around  his  neck. 

"O,  how  fine!"  he  said,  "and  a  thousand  thanks." 
And  then  he  bent  down  again  to  me,  and  his  eyes  looked 
into  mine  with  the  same  peculiar  expression  as  at  the 
time  when  he  carried  me  up  the  stairs;  but  only  an 
instant,  for  down  the  corridor  on  a  full  run  came  George, 
who  hung,  kissing  and  shouting,  on  his  neck. 

"Lena  has  deceived  you,"  he  cried;  "she  has  given 
you  the  scarf  all  herself,  with  her  money,  and  she  knit  it 
in  the  cloister  garden!" 

"  Hush,"  I  said,  angrily,  but  Cousin  Gerhardt  took  the 
little  traitor  up  and  kissed  him,  and  then  sat  him  on  his 
shoulder;  one  end  of  the  new  scarf  was  used  for  reins, 
and  they  ran  down  the  corridor  till  they  reached  Aunt 
Edith's  door,  as  if  on  a  wild  hunt. 

And  then,  of  course,  Aunt  Edith  must  admire  the  scarf, 
and  express  the  greatest  surprise  as  to  where  and  when 
I  could  have  knit  it,  etc. 

Before  we  went  to  bed  that  night,  George  said  to  me: 

"  Do  you  know,  Lena,  everybody  was  pleased  with  our 
scarf  but  Cousin  Ferra." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  George?" 

"Truly,  I  saw  it;  when  Cousin  Gerhardt  went  into  his 
room,  he  was  thinking,  and  he  held  the  scarf  close  around 
him,  and  she  asked  him  what  common  gray  thing  he  had 
around  his  neck;  but  I  told  her  right  there  that  you 
had  knit  it,  and  that  it  was  something  very  beautiful." 

"  And  what  did  Gerhardt  say?"  I  asked,  with  an  unac- 
countably frightened  feeling. 

"  I  have  forgotten  that,  Lena." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

It  was  a  gloomy,  dark  October  day.  The  leaves  of 
the  trees  hung  wet  and  limp  on  the  branches,  and  the 
walks  through  the  park  were  covered  with  fallen  leaves. 
It  was  the  night  before  the  great  hunt.  The  guests  were 
expected  at  any  moment,  and  the  stir  and  bustle  sounded 
strangely  in  our  usually  so  quiet  house.  In  the  corri- 
dors echoed  the  steps  of  the  servants;  doors  were 
slammed,  and  the  jar  and  clang  vibrated  along  the  high 
walls.  Cousin  Gerhardt  and  Ferra  were  inspecting  the 
rooms  for  the  last  time,  and  one  could  hear  Ferra's  slow, 
distinct  speech  away  off  in  Auntie's  sitting-room.  And 
here,  too,  were  signs  of  festivity,  for  Aunt  was  expect- 
ing a  dear  guest  this  evening — her  son.  Gottlieb  had 
fastened  over  the  doors  garlands  of  evergreen,  and 
among  the  dark-green  branches  glowed  crimson  berries 
of  the  mountain  ash.  The  solid  old  inlaid  furniture 
shone  like  new,  and  Auntie  went  about  in  her  quiet 
way  through  the  rooms,  giving  a  touch  here  and  there, 
and  commands  to  her  busy  workers.  "  Jette,  be  careful; 
do  not  knock  that  cup  off  with  the  hunting  piece;  it  was 
my  dear  husband's  favorite  cup;"  and,  "  Lena,  you  can 
gather  some  flowers  in  the  cloister  garden,  to  decorate 
the  cake  plate." 

I  laid  my  work  away  to  go  out,  when  Charlotte's  slen- 
der figure  appeared  in  the  door.  She  held  one  hand 
behind  her  back,  and  when  she  came  close  to  Aunt  Edith, 
she  presented  her  with  a  beautiful  bunch  of  late  roses. 

(93) 


94  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  There,  Aunt;  never  mind  the  cloister  flowers,"  she 
said;  "I  nearly  begged  on  my  knees  for  these  from  the 
gardener,  for  Ferra  had  selected  them  and  laid  claim  to 
them  especially  for  herself.  You  must  put  them  this 
evening  at  Robert's  place  at  the  table." 

"  Will  you  stay,  Lottchen?"  asked  Auntie,  delightedly, 
turning  the  bouquet  round  and  round. 

"  Yes,  as  long  as  you  will  let  me,  for  it  is  exceedingly 
uncomfortable  yonder — differences  of  opinion  between 
Ferra  and  Gerhardt  on  account  of  Joachim —  B-r-r!  it 
is  frightful  to  me,  and  mamma  is  out  of  humor.  May  I 
remain  until  evening?  I  should  like  to,  but" — she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  dejectedly.  "  Is  Robert  coming 
in  his  own  carriage?"  she  added. 

"  Certainly,  dear.  I  shall  have  to  see  his  turn-out, 
surely,  and  it  is  not  a  hard  trip.  I  do  not  know  what 
hour  he  will  arrive;  he  only  wrote  this  evening." 

It  was  near  the  vesper  hour,  and  Charlotte  sat  with 
us  and  ate  daintily  of  the  honey-bread  and  sipped  her 
coffee.  She  "wasn't  at  all  hungry."  Then  we  tied  the 
red  ribbons  around  the  cats'  necks,  but  without  the 
bells,  and  Charlotte  advised  Auntie  to  shut  up  the  good 
little  beasts  when  the  shooting  began,  for  a  cat  could 
hardly  be  distinguished  from  a  hare. 

Afterward  I  walked  with  Charlotte  through  the  sleep- 
ing-rooms and  admired  the  large  canopy  beds,  the  old- 
fashioned  wash-stands,  the  glistening,  fine,  white  linen, 
and  the  immense  rooms  that  seemed  even  of  greater 
dimensions  in  the  half-light  of  the  cloudy  day.  Almost 
the  whole  suite  of  rooms  was  in  order,  except  those  of 
the  Abbess  House,  which  were,  as  always,  silent  and 
deserted. 

Charlotte  had  put  her  arm  around  me  and  become 
very  quiet.  She  had  been  very  merry,  tra-la-ing  and 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  95 

singing  bits  of  songs,  but,  as  we  came  out  of  the  last 
room  and  back  again,  through  the  long  corridor,  there 
were  no  longer  songs  or  words  on  her  lips,  but  in  her 
eyes  lay  an  expression  of  dreamy  happiness. 

"Sing  some  more,"  I  begged,  "sing  again: 
'  My  sweetheart  is  a  hunter!' " 

She  started  away  from  me,  and  gave  me  a  keen  glance. 

"  No,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  sing  any 
more  to-day." 

When  we  entered  Auntie's  room  we  found  her  sitting 
at  her  writing-desk;  the  lid  was  raised,  and  she  had 
pulled  out  a  number  of  drawers  and  partitions,  in  which 
she  had  all  sorts  of  things  stowed  away.  The  desk  occu- 
pied a  prominent  place  on  one  side  of  the  chimney;  on 
the  other  side  was  a  flower-stand,  full  of  fine,  healthy 
plants;  the  sturdy  India-rubber  plant,  with  its  thick  leaf, 
and  the  graceful  palm,  which  gave  dignity  to  their  more 
dainty  mates. 

As  Auntie  was  sensitive  to  the  cold,  Gottlieb  had  kin- 
dled a  bright  wood  fire, and  the  yellow  flames  mirrored 
themselves  on  the  old  inlaid  floor  and  threw  bright  rays 
on  Aunt  Edith's  gray  dress.  Charlotte  curled  herself 
up  in  a  big  easy-chair  near  her  and  gazed  thoughtfully 
on  the  delicate  hands  so  busy  just  now  at  the  writing- 
desk,  and  I  sat  down  on  a  low  stool  by  the  fire  and  gave 
myself  up  to  the  magic  of  the  dreamy  twilight  hour. 

Suddenly  Auntie's  hands  were  still,  and  as  I  looked 
up  she  held  a  dried,  fine-leaved  wreath  in  her  hand. 

"See  here,  children,"  she  said,  softly,  "this  was  my 
bridal  wreath." 

I  looked  at  the  dried  treasure  with  a  mixture  of  awe 
and  curiosity,  and  then  at  the  little  old  lady.  It  seemed 
most  strange  and  improbable  that  she  could  ever  have 
been  young,  and  worn  a  wreath  of  flowers.  Charlotte, 


96  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

also,  bent  over  and  looked  with  shining  eyes  on  the 
dried  token  of  a  long-passed  happiness. 

"Ah,  yes,"  began  Aunt  Edith  with  a  tender  voice. 
"  When  the  wreath  is  fresh  and  green,  people  think  that 
heaven  with  all  its  blessings  has  descended  upon  them. 
Even  I  thought  so,  children,  and  yet  mine  was  such  a 
sad  wedding.  I  was  an  orphan,  like  you,  Lena,  but  God 
keep  you  from  such  a  sad  experience.  I  made  this 
wreath  myself.  I  had  not  one  friend,  and  the  grand- 
mother of  my  betrothed  was  my  only  attendant,  and  the 
only  one  in  the  church,  except  the  pastor,  when  we  stood 
before  the  altar.  Tears  were  mingled  with  my  prayers 
there,  but  as  I  went  through  the  dewy,  fresh  woods,  by 
my  husband's  side — we  were  married  very  early  in  the 
morning  to  avoid  notice — ever  farther  into  the  deep 
forest,  where  lay  the  house  which  was  to  be  my  home; 
as  the  sunshine  in  the  dew-drops  sparkled  on  each  tiny 
leaf;  as  the  sweet, fresh  odor  of  the  woods  breathed  upon 
me,  quite  alone  with  the  man  whom  I  loved  so  much,  to 
whom  I  was  so  dear;  and  as  the  blessed  truth  filled  my 
heart  that  no  one  any  more,  save  God  alone,  had  the 
right  to  separate  us,  a  holy  joy  possessed  me,  so  sweet, 
so  full,  so  pure,  that  no  bride,  with  the  most  brilliant 
and  splendid  nuptials,  could  have  experienced  more. 

"  And  if  at  any  time  I  feel  rebellious  toward  the  dear 
Father,  because  He  has  laid  upon  me  so  heavy  a  cross, 
I  recall  my  wedding-day,  and  the  moment  when  I  stood 
by  his  side,  with  his  arm  around  me,  just  at  the  place 
where  first  one  could  see  the  gable  of  our  house,  that 
was  almost  hidden  in  the  luxuriant  beech  woods. 

"And  I  seem  to  see  again  his  strong,  young  face,  that 
looked  away  with  glowing  eyes,  and  hear  his  true- 
hearted,  good  voice  as  he  spoke,  '  there  greets  you,  your 
hcme,  Edith.' 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  97 

"In  that  one  hour  was  contained  so  much;  all  sor- 
row lay  so  far  behind  me,  that  it  might  never  have 
been.  I  could  conceive  of  no  discord  or  dissension  in 
the  world.  It  was  an  hour  of  the  purest,  most  unalloyed 
blessedness." 

She  still  held  the  faded  wreath  in  her  hand,  and  the 
sweet  remembrance  of  that  morning  tinted  her  cheeks 
with  almost  a  youthful  flush.  Then  she  hastily  laid  it 
back  in  the  box. 

"  Children,  why  do  I  speak  of  it  all?"  she  said,  and 
brushed  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  "  What  do  you  know  of 
such  things?  There;  look,  isn't  that  pretty?" 

And  smiling,  she  held  toward  us  a  baby's  shoe,  all 
trodden  down  on  the  side. 

"  That  was  his  first  little  shoe,  Lena; how  tiny,  is  it  not?" 

"O,  give  it  to  me  a  moment!"  entreated  Charlotte, 
softly,  and  as  the  little  shoe  lay  in  her  hand  she  stroked 
and  caressed  it,  nearly  the  same  as  Auntie,  only  in  shy 
haste,  as  if  she  were  ashamed. 

"Heavens!"  interrupted  the  old  lady,  "how  the  time 
flies,  and  in  my  reminiscences  I  have  almost  forgotten 
what  I  was  after  here.  There;  see,  children,  that  is  to  be 
Robert's  to-day,"  she  said,  and  held  up  a  hunting-knife, 
with  richly-gilded  handle;  "it  belonged  to  his  father, 
and  he  shall  carry  it  now." 

Then  she  began  to  put  back  in  their  places  the  little 
trifles  and  remembrances,  while  Lotta  examined  the 
knife;  finally  she  laid  it  on  her  lap,  and  when  Auntie 
asked  for  the  little  shoe,  she  gave  it  back  lingeringly. 

"  No,  no,  Lotta  dear,  you  can  not  have  that,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "  You  must  leave  me  something." 

Charlotte  was  crimson,  and  turned  her  face  hurriedly 
away.     It  was  still  in  the  room,  and  dusky;  the  fire  had 
gradually  burned  out. 
7 


98  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"Now,  tell  me  something,  children,"  said  Aunt  Edith, 
settling  herself  comfortably  in  the  easy-chair  Charlotte 
had  given  up  to  her;  "it  will  make  the  time  pass 
more  quickly." 

"Ah,  no,  Auntie  dear,"  begged  Lotta,  "you  shall  tell  us 
something,  and  do  you  know  what?"  She  had  kneeled 
down  and  taken  Aunt  Edith's  hand  in  hers.  "  Tell  us 
why  you  left  here  secretly  at  that  time?  You  can  not 
think  how  I  long  to  know." 

"  Ah,  dear  child,  the  story  is  almost  too  sad  for  two 
young  things  like  yourselves." 

"  Please,  Auntie  dear,  O,  please,"  coaxed  Lotta.  "  Was 
it  not  true  that  they  were  unkind  to  you;  that  they 
would  not  let  you  marry  your  betrothed?" 

"  Yes,  that  was  it,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  "  and  God  knows 
I  did  not  make  my  resolution  lightly;  it  was  no  easy 
thing,  but  I  could  not  do  otherwise.  With  all  my 
heart  and  soul  I  clung  to  him  whom  I  was  ordered  to 
forget  at  any  cost.  If  I  had  only  known  why;  there  was 
no  charge  made  against  him.  Good  and  upright;  a 
nobler  man  could  not  well  be,  and  from  infancy 
well-known;  and  a  frequent  guest  at  our  house — 
my  brother  counted  him  his  dearest  friend.  That 
we  loved  each  other,  your  father  had  known  for  a 
long  time,  Charlotte,  and  my  dear  mother  whispered  to 
me  on  her  death-bed,  her  almost  dying  words:  'If  it 
should  come  that  Herr  Berka  wishes  to  make  you  his 
wife,  Edith,  do  not  say  no.  He  is  as  true  as  steel,  and  of 
a  noble  nature.'  Soon  after  that  your  father  married, 
child,  and  from  that  time  on  a  persistent  opposition  to 
our  love  was  begun;  not  openly,  but  that  was  a  thousand 
times  worse.  Sometimes  a  fortnight  would  pass  that  I 
did  not  see  my  lover,  although  he  came  to  Folkerode 
many  times  during  the  week;  almost  always  it  happened 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  99 

when  I  was  driving  with  my  sister-in-law,  or  out 
with  her  somewhere,  and  if  he  found  me  at  home  it 
would  be  made  impossible  for  us  to  speak  more  than  a 
few  words  to  one  another. 

"  He  was  not  one  of  those,  however,  that  willingly 
fight  with  closed  visor.  One  day  after — I  regret  to  say 
it — a  letter  from  him,  that  he  had  sent  me  by  a  messen- 
ger, failed  to  reach  my  hands,  and  he  could  not  longer 
endure  such  interference,  he  rode  over  to  FOlkerode,  and 
went  straight  to  my  brother's  room.  I  was  sitting  with 
my  sister-in-law,  who  had  Gerhardt  on  her  lap.  Your 
mother  has  never  been  a  woman  of  many  words,  Char- 
lotte, but  that  day  she  made  a  long  speech  to  me,  the 
substance  of  it  being  that  Herr  Berka  was  a  hot-tem- 
pered, violent  man,  and  not  calculated  to  make  any 
woman  happy.  I  did  not  answer,  but  bit  my  lips  till 
they  bled,  to  keep  from  crying.  Soon  I  heard  through 
the  closed  door  loud  conversation,  and  recognized  my 
lover's  angry  voice.  The  next  moment  I  stood  between 
the  excited  men,  and  declared  I  was  Herr  Berka's 
betrothed,  and  should  so  remain. 

"  '  We  will  see,'  said  your  father. 

" '  Yes,  we  will  see,'  I  repeated,  and  with  that  began 
our  hostility.  All  day,  I  would  remain  locked  in  my 
room,  unceasingly  racking  my  brain,  what  now  to  do. 
I  had  prevailed  upon  Berka,  that  day,  not  without  the 
most  earnest  opposition,  to  stay  away  from  Wendhusen, 
giving  him  the  assurance  that  I  would  remain  true  to 
him.  I  never  thought  of  flight,  although  a  thousand 
plans  had  gone  through  my  head.  Then  I  did  the  sim- 
plest, most  natural  thing;  I  went  to  your  mother,  I  placed 
before  her  how  long  and  how  truly  we  had  loved  each 
other,  and  entreated  her  to  abandon  her  anger  against  us, 
and  use  her  influence  to  soften  her  husband's  will;  she  had 


100  CLOISTER    WENL.HUSEN. 

only  to  put  herself  in  my  place,  and  think  it  was  her  love 
that  was  so  hindered  and  thwarted.  '  Never!'  she 
cried,  with  passion,  and  in  a  tone  that  left  no  doubt  in 
my  mind  that  I  had  nothing  to  hope  for  from  her. 

" '  Very  well,'  I  answered,  '  then  I  must  see  what  I  can 
do  for  myself,'  and  went  to  my  room.  I  began  imme- 
diately to  put  my  things  in  order.  What  I  should  do 
was  not  clear  in  my  mind,  only  to  get  away,  away  at  any 
cost.  Then  I  slipped  down  into  the  servant's  room, 
motioned  to  Gottlieb,  at  that  time  an  active,  strong  man, 
and  ordered  him  to  be  at  the  two  beeches  with  the 
light  wagon.  Off  to  one  side  from  FOlkerode  lay  a 
small  town,  where  Berka's  aged  grandmother,  a  widow, 
lived.  She  was  almost  childish,  and  I  knew  her  only 
from  his  description,  and  that  her  home  had  taken  the 
place  of  his  father's  house  to  him,  as  his  parents  died  in 
his  childhood;  and  so,  in  the  night  and  fog,  Gottlieb 
drove  me  to  her;  secretly,  as  a  thief,  I  left  my  father's 
house.  My  resolution  almost  failed  me,  as  I  stole  down 
the  steps,  and  in  spite  of  the  unhappy  situation  I  nearly 
turned  back,  because  of  the  almost  overpowering  misery 
and  sorrow  I  felt.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  left 
indelible  disgrace  behind,  as  if  I  had  laid  something  that 
was  worse  than  a  curse  on  the  honorable  standing  of 
my  home. 

"But  I  hesitated  only  a  moment,  and  as  the  horse 
went  on,  and  the  outline  of  the  old  cloister  vanished  from 
my  sight  at  the  next  turn  in  the  road,  I  wept,  and 
sobbed,  and  prayed,  as  one  in  despair. 

"  The  old  lady  was  not  a  little  astonished  to  have,  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  the  betrothed  of  her  grandson 
ask  for  shelter;  but  although  she  could  not  clearly  com- 
prehend what  it  all  meant,  she  was  kind,  and  took  me  in 
and  cared  for  me. 


CLOISTEit     WENDHUSEN.  101 

"  The  next  morning  I  sent  a  letter  to  my  brother,  telling 
him  I  should  not  return  again  to  his  house,  and  at  the 
same  time  wrote  to  my  betrothed,  telling  him  where  I 
was  and  what  I  had  done.  My  brother  did  not  reply  to 
my  letter,  but  sent  me  the  necessary  papers.  From 
another  source  I  learned  that  a  storm  of  passion  made 
the  rafters  ring  in  the  old  rooms  at  Wendhusen,  and  that 
the  fugitive  was  to  be  cut  off  from  any  further  recognition 
as  sister.  Ah,  children,  you  do  not  know  how  hard  it 
was  for  me  at  that  time,  and  yet  the  first  years  of  my 
married  life  were  the  happiest  I  have  known.  But 
finally  fate  rushed  upon  us,  like  a  storm  through  the 
forest.  First  my  husband  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
obliged  to  shoot  down  a  poacher.  Week  after  week  we 
would  find  threatening  notes  or  letters  thrown  into  the 
house  declaring  revenge.  It  was  a  terribly  anxious  time, 
that  year  of  1848. 

"  One  evening  I  sat  with  my  husband  in  the  sitting- 
room.  He  had  just  returned  from  the  forest,  and  we 
were  playing  with  Robert,  when  suddenly  there  was  a 
report,  and  a  ball  whizzed  close  over  his  head  and  shiv- 
ered a  mirror,  hanging  opposite,  into  a  thousand  frag- 
ments. 

"  Every  day  I  parted  from  him  with  a  deadly  fear  at 
my  heart,  and  would  go  about  the  house  restless  and 
tortured  with  anxiety  till  I  finally  heard  again  his  dear 
footsteps,  and  could  throw  my  arms  about  him  who  was 
my  all.  Children,  in  such  times  one  learns  to  pray. 
You  do  not  know  how,  in  such  moments,  when  the  heart 
is  torn  with  love's  fears,  an  earnest  prayer  strengthens 
the  soul  and  helps  one  through  so  many  unspeakably 
fearful  hours. 

"  But  '  God  wills,  whoever  directs,'  says  an  old  prov- 
erb, and  so  there  came  that  terrible  day  when  I  was 


102  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

never  to  hear  his  step  again,  when  they  carried  him  into 
his  house  dead  and  cold." 

Aunt  was  silent,  as  if  exhausted  by  emotion. 

My  eyes  were  wet,  and  I  involuntarily  reached  out  for 
Charlotte's  hand,  but  her  chair  was  empty,  and  in  feel- 
ing around  I  touched  her  soft  hair.  She  was  kneeling 
before  Aunt  Edith's  chair,  and  soft  sobs  came  to  my 
ears. 

"  Do  not  weep,  dear,"  said  Auntie,  gently.  "  I  said 
the  story  was  too  sad  for  such  young  folks  who  as  yet 
had  lived  without  sorrow.  Heaven  guard  you  from 
such  agony  as  I  passed  through!  Truly  you,  little 
Lena,  you  know  already  what  it  is  to  stand  by  a  coffin 
and  not  be  able  to  realize  that  in  that  narrow,  awful 
room  rests  a  beloved  face  that  we  shall  never  see  smile 
again,  and  nevermore  hear  words  from  the  cold  lips;  that 
which  was  our  entire,  greatest  happiness,  is  lost,  forever 
lost. 

"  And  now,  after  they  buried  him,  I  had  to  live  my 
life  and  meet  all  its  imperative  demands.  I  must  care 
for  my  child,  and  these  cares  were  pressing  hard.  My 
extremely  small  pension  was  not  enough  for  our  daily 
needs,  to  say  nothing  of  Robert's  education.  My  hus- 
band, when  we  were  married,  had  written  my  brother  in 
proud  self-reliance  that  he  would  renounce  the  dowry  of 
his  wife.  In  a  certain  length  of  time  I  must  vacate  the 
forest-house,  and  knew  not  where  to  go  or  of  whom  to 
ask  counsel. 

"  About  four  days  before  I  was  to  leave  the  dear  old 
house  a  fire  broke  out  in  the  night — I  never  shall  forget 
that  night!  I  was  awakened  by  a  shriek  so  dreadful,  so 
blood-curdling,  that  I  sprang  to  my  feet.  When  I  think 
of  that  shriek  I  feel  again  as  if  an  icy-coldness  was 
rushing  through  my  veins.  At  the  same  moment  there 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  103 

was  a  blow  on  my  window-shutter,  and  the  voice  of  a 
huntsman  cried,  '  Fire!  Fire!'  and  as  I  raised  the  blind  a 
fiery  glow  burst  into  the  room.  The  barn  was  in  full 
blaze. 

"I  do  not  really  know  what  I  did  then;  to  snatch 
Robert  from  the  bed  and  to  get  him  into  his  clothes  was 
the  first  thing.  Then  I  mechanically  searched  around 
for  little  things  that  I  could  take  with  me.  When  I  dis- 
covered later  what  I  had  saved  I  had  to  smile,  and  yet  I 
could  not  have  taken  away  anything  dearer.  It  was  the 
box  with  my  bridal  wreath,  the  baby  shoe,  and  that 
hunting-knife,  also  a  couple  of  silver  spoons  and  some 
linen. 

"And  when  I  stood  under  the  dark  trees  with  my 
child,  a  little  bundle  in  my  hand,  and  stared  into  the 
fiery  glow  as  if  spell-bound,  everything  seemed  to  me 
a  wild,  weird  dream. 

"  I  remember  that  a  multitude  of  people  from  the  sur- 
rounding hamlets  stood  around,  but  they  moved 
neither  hand  nor  foot  to  save  anything.  It  was  1848. 
They  tried  to  throw  one  of  the  foresters  in  the  fire.  I 
heard  the  bellowing  of  the  drunken  crowd;  saw  how 
they  struggled  with  him.  They  threw  out  of  the  win- 
dows of  the  house  what  was  inside,  piece  by  piece  of  my 
simple  furniture,  to  which  clung  sweetest  remembrances; 
flung  them  out  to  be  carried  away  or  demolished  by  the 
horde.  It  was  a  horrible,  desolate  scene,  lighted  by  the 
red  flames,  that  now  had  seized  the  grand  old  oaks  that 
surrounded  the  house,  but  they  succeeded  in  saving  the 
dear  old  house  itself. 

"  Robert  clung  to  me  in  fright,  and  old  Diana,  my  hus- 
band's favorite,  a  splendid  spaniel,  stood  near  me  utter- 
ing low  growls.  Then  I  heard  my  name  called,  as  by  a 
thousand  throats.  I  had  felt  that  they  would  seek  me. 


104  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

My  danger  and  my  boy's  put  life  into  me.  I  picked  up 
the  child  and  fled.  How  far  I  went  before  I  sank  down 
exhausted  I  can  not  tell;  it  was  on  the  edge  of  a  high- 
way, and  just  then  a  wagon  came  along;  I  called  out, 
and  when  it  stopped  I  recognized  the  pastor  of  a  neigh- 
boring town.  The  old  gentleman  started  when  he  saw 
me.  '  The  high-forester's  house  is  on  fire,'  I  gasped, 
summoning  all  my  strength  to  get  into  the  wagon  with 
Robert.  '  Cursed  rascals,'  he  murmured,  then  he  asked 
where  he  should  take  me? 

" '  To  Wendhusen,'  I  said,  mechanically,  already  burn- 
ing with  fever.  I  thought  when  all  else  failed  there  was 
still  my  father's  house,  and  in  that  moment  of  agitation 
I  had  forgotten  everything  which  had  separated  me  from 
it.  It  was  nearly  midnight  when  we  got  here,  and  the 
bell  at  the  gate  sounded  in  my  ears  like  a  funeral  knell. 
Then  lights  passed  quickly  here  and  there,  the  great 
door  of  the  Abbess  House  opened,  and  my  brother,  who 
in  those  troublous  times  was  prepared  at  any  moment 
for  alarming  news,  came  out  upon  the  steps,  followed  by 
one  of  the  servants.  I  supported  myself  by  one  of  the 
iron  knobs  of  the  balusters  and  looked  in  his  eyes;  he 
started  when  he  recognized  me;  for  a  moment  a  severe 
expression  passed  over  his  face,  then  came  the  old  look 
of  goodness  and  benignity  which  was  his  true  nature. 

"'Give  me  a  shelter,  Werner,  me  and  my  child,'  I 
entreated,  but  in  a  set  way,  like  something  memorized, 
for  I  seemed  no  longer  to  have  power  to  think,  and  my 
tongue  failed  me.  '  They  have  burned  the  house  over 
my  head,  and  I  am  ill.'  He  caught  me  in  his  arms  as  I 
fell,  and  carried  me  into  the  house,  and  then  I  sank 
into  unconsciousness. 

"  I  had  a  long,  severe  illness.  I  have  absolutely  no 
remembrance  of  it,  but  as  I  returned  to  health  I  remem- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  105 

ber  some  days;  the  first  day  I  sat  up  in  the  bed,  for 
instance — it  was  in  that  sleeping-room  there — the 
memory  came  back  of  all  that  had  befallen  me,  in  all  its 
horrible  details.  Gottlieb's  wife  nursed  me,  and  from 
her  I  learned  how  near  death  I  had  been. 

"  It  was  a  sad  awakening,  and  at  first  I  wished  so 
often  that  I  had  died  at  that  time.  My  relations  with 
your  parents  remained  forced;  yes,  hostile,  although  I 
tried  to  propitiate  them,  and  did  not  shrink  from  humil- 
iating myself.  They  took  Robert  from  me,  however;  he 
was  to  be  brought  up  with  Gerhardt  and  Joachim.  This 
dwelling  was  given  to  me  for  my  use,  and  one  day  my 
brother  came  to  me,  the  first  time  in  many  years,  to  say 
that  he  would  pay  me  interest  on  the  capital,  once  dis- 
dained by  my  husband,  but  I  must  promise,  however,  not 
to  interfere  in  any  way  with  the  education  of  my  child. 

"  What  could  I  do?  I  had  no  choice!  I  dared  not 
go  out  of  the  house,  that  at  least  was  a  roof  over  my 
head,  with  my  boy,  for  I  was  not  able  to  support  us.  I 
was  still  an  invalid,  and  it  was  no  wonder. 

"  So  I  lived  here,  a  life  gloomy  and  solitary,  deprived  of 
my  one  ray  of  sunshine,  my  only  joy,  for  my  child  was 
likely  to  be  entirely  alienated  from  me. 

"  When  I  heard  the  merry  shouts  of  children's  voices, 
that  came  up  from  the  corridor  below,  my  heart  would 
throb  in  expectation  and  feverish  agitation;  but  how  many 
times  I  waited  in  vain.  Days  at  a  time  I  never  saw  him, 
and  when,  sometimes,  I  heard  outside  in  the  hall  hesitating 
steps  that  I  recognized,  and  I  would  run,  trembling  for 
joy,  through  the  rooms  to  open  the  door,  there  would 
stand  my  little  son,  shy,  and  almost  defiant  before  me, 
and  would  submit  to  my  caresses  with  evident  resistance. 
He  was  no  more  my  bright,  loving  boy  that  once  hung  on 
my  neck  with  such  impetuous  tenderness. 


106  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

"  '  Robert!'  I  would  entreat,  almost  on  my  knees  before 
the  child,  '  do  you  not  love  your  mother  any  more? 
Have  you  forgotten  how  beautiful  it  was  when  we  went 
into  the  woods  to  meet  papa  in  the  evening,  and  we  saw 
the  deer,  and  I  braided  you  a  wreath  for  your  little  hat? 
Tell  me,  do  you  never  think  any  more  of  that?'  Some- 
times he  would  nod  his  head,  and  for  a  moment  his 
face  would  light  up,  and  the  stubborn  look  would  disap- 
pear; but  usually  he  would  answer:  '  But  then,  it  is  much 
better  here.' 

"  I  would  beg  him  to  come  again  very  soon.  I  began 
to  talk  to  him  about  his  father,  to  tell  him  how  good  and 
noble  he  was.  He  would  scarcely  listen  to  what  I  said; 
but  would  go  skipping  about  from  one  place  to  another, 
impatient  to  get  away.  '  But  Robert,'  I  would  cry, 
almost  in  despair,  '  have  you  no  pity  for  mamma,  that 
she  must  always  be  here  alone?'  Then  he  would  look 
at  me  with  a  childish,  indifferent  expression  in  his  eyes, 
and  shake  defiantly  his  curly  head,  and  if  I  wept  he 
would  run  away,  and  would  not  come  again,  until,  for 
longing  and  grief,  I  was  nearly  desperate,  and  would 
send  Gottlieb  for  him,  who  would  succeed,  by  all  arts 
and  promises,  in  decoying  the  boy  to  me.  What  did  I 
not  live  through  in  those  days  in  my  anxiety  over  the 
development  of  the  character  of  my  child,  powerless  as 
I  was  to  help  him!  I  heard  him  complained  of  as  a 
quarrelsome,  overbearing  boy,  and  Joachim's  shrieks 
showed  me  often  enough  that  they  were  constantly 
fighting.  One  day  I  heard,  in  the  vestibule  of  the 
Abbess  House,  Joachim's  loud  screams  of  passion  and 
Robert's  angry  retort:  '  You  detestable  cub,  I  will  give 
it  to  you.' 

"At  first  I  sat  still;  then,  as  the  tumult  grew  louder,  I 
laid  down  my  work  and  ran  along  the  corridor.  At  the 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  107 

foot  of  the  stairs  lay  both  boys  in  a  fierce  struggle,  and 
the  setter  belonging  to  Gerhardt  near  them  howling 
dismally,  with  one  of  its  forepaws  in  the  air.  Robert 
was  on  top  of  the  roaring  Joachim,  and  with  fists  and 
feet  was  beating  him  soundly.  I  drew  the  little  mur- 
derer back.  He  turned  round  to  me,  his  face  red  with 
heat  and  anger. 

"  'He  was  tormenting  the  dog!'  he  cried,  choking  with 
indignation.  'I  must  punish  him,  the  black  sneak!' 

"  It  was  impossible  to  hold  him.  Just  then,  your  mother, 
Charlotte,  stepped  out  of  the  library,  and  we  stood  fac- 
ing each  other  for  the  first  and  last  time  since  my  flight — 
not  even  by  your  father's  coffin  did  we  reach  out  our 
hands.  We  stared  at  each  other  in  terror;  the  few  years 
had  made  serious  ravages  in  her  once  blooming  face, 
and  she  hardly  recognized  me.  The  fresh  young  girl 
she  knew  had  become  a  grief-stricken,  rebellious  woman; 
my  mirror  told  me  that  every  day.  So  we  stood  in  the 
vestibule,  and  between  us  struggled  the  children  in  silent 
rage. 

"  Then  your  mother  aroused  herself  from  the  dazed 
condition  into  which  my  unexpected  presence  had  thrown 
her,  and  suddenly  pulled  my  boy  to  his  feet  and  raised 
her  hand  to  strike  him.  He  looked  up  at  her  defiantly; 
she  pushed  him  back  and  shook  her  own  flesh  and  blood 
violently,  all  without  a  sound,  and  with  tightly-closed 
lips.  I  took  hold  of  my  own  child  and  drew  him  to  me 
to  reprove  him,  when  he  tore  himself  from  me,  and 
throwing  his  arms  around  your  mother,  buried  his  head 
in  her  dress. 

"There  I  stood,  deserted  and  helpless!  A  smile 
appeared  on  the  face  of  my  sister-in-law  that  cut  me  to 
the  heart.  It  was  not  malicious — oh,  no;  it  was  a  happy, 
an  almost  heavenly  smile,  that  made  her  cold  face 


108  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

strangely  beautiful.  I  turned  and  went  back  to  my 
room,  and  there  I  lay  more  wretched  than  ever  before. 
I  believed  I  had  lost  the  love  of  my  child  forever;  and 
so  I  lived  for  years  having  no  joy  in  anything,  and  no 
hope.  The  children  grew  up;  you  were  born;  Gerhardt 
and  Robert  were  sent  to  the  Gymnasium  at  B — .  Only 
rarely  came  news  from  them;  Robert  was  in  the  Cadet 
Corps.  They  spent  their  vacations  here,  and  then  their 
old  hatred  would  break  out  anew.  It  was  in  those 
days  I  received  the  name  of  '  Cats'  aunt.'  You  asked 
me  once,  Lena,  why  I  was  called  so.  On  one  of  the 
anniversaries  of  my  husband's  death,  the  full  con- 
sciousness of  my  blighted  life  came  to  me,  and,  over- 
whelmed and  full  of  despair,  I  went  out  and  sat  down  on 
the  margin  of  the  forest,  and  asked  uncounted  times  why 
the  Lord  had  sent  to  me  so  much  pain.  In  my  misery 
doubts  of  God's  goodness  and  justice  assailed  me.  I 
even  questioned  the  existence  of  a  God.  I  had  become 
wicked.  I  was  afraid  of  myself,  and  seemed  to  have  lost 
the  power  to  think  differently  or  better.  My  mind 
seemed  paralyzed.  I  only  felt  my  pain,  my  desolation, 
and  then — it  seems  ridiculous  now — and  yet  I  thanked 
the  dear  God  so  heartily.  As  I  sat  there,  looking  into  the 
green  branches  with  burning  eyes,  and  thought  of  the 
man  that  death  had  robbed  me  of,  and  the  passionately- 
loved  child  that  life  had  taken,  and  how  utterly  alone  I 
was  in  the  wide,  wide  world — something  pulled  on  my 
dress  and  crawled  up,  and  as  I  looked  down,  startled  from 
my  reverie,  there  on  my  lap  was  a  little,  white,  half- 
starved  kitten,  looking  at  me  beseechingly  with  its  sharp 
little  eyes,  and  mewing  mournfully;  then  it  began  to  play 
with  the  fringe  of  my  shawl,  so  contented  and  amusing, 
that  I  forgot  for  a  moment,  in  watching  it,  my  trouble. 
I  took  it  in  my  hands  and  stroked  it,  and  a  real  childish 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  109 

joy,  which  I  can  not  describe,  came  over  me  as  I  played 
with  the  little  creature. 

"  I  almost  smothered  it  in  my  fondness,  and  that  it 
was  not  afraid  of  me,  did  not  run  from  me,  stirred  me 
deeply.  Truly,  when  I  came  back  to  the  house  with  it, 
satisfied  with  my  play,  and  it  sat  in  the  window  and 
daintily  licked  its  paws,  it  swept  over  me  how  poor  I  was 
that  a  dumb  brute  was  able  to  give  me  so  much  pleas- 
ure, and  the  bitter  tears  filled  my  eyes,  and  yet,  the  con- 
fiding little  creature  was  as  dear  as  a  friend.  All  the 
rest  are  her  descendants;  isn't  that  true,  Minka?  O, 
really,  we  understand  one  another,"  she  said,  caressing 
the  cat  that  had  been  sitting  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  for 
a  long  time. 

"  There  is  an  end  to  everything  in  this  world,  chil- 
dren," she  continued,  then,  as  Charlotte  still  wept,  and 
I  resolved  to  treat  the  cats  better  than  ever  before, 
"  and  there  was  to  that  frightful  time.  I  found  my  boy 
again;  he  became  my  child  once  more,  body  and  soul. 
God  be  praised,  Who  heard  my  passionate  entreaties! 
The  past  lies  far,  far  behind  us,  and  to-night  I  would 
exchange  with  no  king  in  the  world." 

"  Is  it  not  true,  dear  Aunt,"  asked  Charlotte,  softly, 
"that  time  that  Robert  was  so  very  ill  with  typhoid 
fever,  that " 

"Yes;  then  he  learned  to  know  his  mother,  dear,  but 
he  was  not  given  up  to  me  without  a  contest,  for  your 
mother  insisted  upon  nursing  him.  They  had  brought  him 
into  a  room  there,  across  the  corridor,  and  if  the  old 

family  physician  had  not  interposed  his  authority 

but  we  will  leave  that.  The  day  when  he  first  again 
said,  'Mother,  dear  mother,'  and  to-day,  are  blessed 
days." 

Charlotte's  soft  weeping  had  grown  mute. 


110  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  Mamma  wanted  to  care  for  him?"  she  asked,  incredu- 
lously. "  O,  dear  Auntie,  you  must  be  mistaken;  she 
always  has  had  such  fear  of  contagious  diseases." 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  decidedly. 

"But  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Charlotte,  almost 
impatiently;  "  you  said  a  while  ago  that  she  did  not 
strike  him  at  that  time,  and  now,  that  she  wanted  to 
nurse  him,  and  I  know  positively  that  mamma  does  not 
like " 

"  Now  you  have  your  little  head  full  of  doubts,"  inter- 
rupted Aunt  Edith;  "you  know  that  your  mother  treats 
Robert  coldly,  almost  rudely;  that  she  scarcely  takes  any 
notice  of  him;  yes,  still  more,  that  she  is  not  at  all  will- 
ing to  have  him  here,  and  yet,  I  tell  you,  she  insisted 
upon  taking  care  of  him  in  his  illness;  it  seems  very  con- 
tradictory? Yes,  but  never  mind,  Charlotte,  and  do  not 
think  of  it  any  more;  it  would  be  no  use,  for  it  is  an 
enigma.  How  strange  is  a  woman's  heart!  Who  can 
fathom  it?" 

Charlotte  was  silent;  it  was  very  still  in  the  room;  the 
clock  ticked  monotonously,  and  in  the  fire-place  glowed 
the  ashes  of  the  last  coals.  They  glowed  like  fiery  eyes 
and  threw  out  a  soft  light  in  a  small  circle,  and  in  this 
glimmer  I  saw  Charlotte's  head  suddenly  raised  up  from 
Aunt  Edith's  lap,  and  she  turned  to  the  window  as  she 
rose  to  her  feet,  as  if  listening;  then  she  bent  down  to 
Aunt,  I  heard  a  kiss,  and  a  loving  "  good-night,"  and 
the  next  moment  the  room  door  closed  behind  her. 

"Charlotte!  Charlotte!"  Auntie  called  after  her;  but 
she  was  already  beyond  call.  "  What  is  that  whimsical 
child  going  to  do  now?"  she  said,  softly.  Again  it  was 
still,  and  I  saw  in  my  mind  again  all  that  picture  that 
Auntie  had  made  so  clear  with  only  a  few  strokes. 

"  Poor,  poor  Auntie!"   I  thought,  while  mechanically 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  Ill 

my  hands  laid  brush-wood  on  the  few  live  coals.  Then  I 
snuggled  up  to  Auntie's  knee.  Her  fingers  threaded 
lightly  through  my  hair,  and  stroked  over  my  face;  I 
held  them  fast  and  tried  to  kiss  them.  The  door  flew 
open  and  a  fresh,  buoyant  man's  voice  sounded  in  the 
room. 

"  Good  evening,  my  good,  my  dear  little  mother!  "  In 
a  moment  I  was  on  my  feet,  and  someone  else  knelt  in 
my  place,  someone  whom  I  had  never  seen. 

"  Robert!  Robert!  you  have  come  already?  "  she  cried; 
"my  boy,  my  fair-haired  laddie!  " 

I  shyly  drew  back  not  to  intrude  upon  the  meeting 
between  mother  and  son.  The  dry  brush-wood  blazed 
up  clear  and  bright,  and  the  playing  flames  showed  me  a 
large,  very  handsome  man,  with  dark,  curly  hair,  whose 
eyes,  beaming  with  joy,  rested  on  Auntie's  face.  He  had 
raised  her  up,  and  now  held  her  in  his  arms.  I  had 
remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  my 
glance  rested  in  fascination  on  his  splendid  physique. 
Then — there  on  the  top  button  of  his  green  hunting- 
jacket,  hung  by  a  single  little  thread,  was  a  knot  of  pale- 
blue  ribbon,  which  surely  did  not  belong  there,  and  this 
knot — yes,  only  a  short  time  ago,  I  saw  it  in  Charlotte's 
hair — or  was  I  bewitched? 

Quietly  I  slipped  away,  all  the  time  puzzling  over  what 
I  had  seen  by  the  flickering  flames.  Then  it  seemed  as 
if  someone  softly  sang: 

"  My  sweetheart  is  a  hunter, 
That  I  love  a  thousand  fold." 

"O  Lena,  you  foolish  thing!  "  I  whispered,  half  aloud, 
"  what  do  you  know  of  love?" 

I  pressed  my  hands  before  my  eyes.  It  was  as  if  a 
veil,  the  existence  of  which  until  now  I  had  had  no  sus- 
picion, lifted  a  wee  bit,  and  I  had  seen  into  something 


112  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

wonderful,  heavenly;  as  if  the  air  was  flooded  with 
the  scent  of  roses,  that  I  imagined  I  really  inhaled,  I 
know  not  why  it  was,  but  suddenly  burning  tears  started 
from  my  eyes,  and  a  hitherto  unknown,  passionate  feel- 
ing of  envy  filled  me.  O  happy  Charlotte! 

During  the  evening,  as  I  sat  by  the  table  with  Auntie 
and  my  new  cousin,  and  his  pleasant,  cheery  words 
sounded  in  my  ear  (we  had  instantly  become  friends), 
my  eyes  furtively  glanced  to  the  upper  button  of  his  coat, 
but  the  place  was  empty.  And  when  Aunt  began  to  talk 
of  Charlotte,  and  regretted  that  he  had  not  come  a  few 
moments  earlier,  because  then  he  would  have  met  her, 
a  flush  mounted  to  his  temples,  and  he  was  silent. 

O  Cousin  Robert,if  you  had  known  what  I  had  noticed! 

"  Mother,"  questioned  Robert.,  suddenly,  and  he  laid 
his  sun-browned,  shapely  hand  on  his  mother's,  which 
looked  like  a  child's  in  comparison,  "  does  Joachim  live 
at  the  villa  or  here? " 

"  Here,  so  far  as  I  know,"  replied  his  mother,  and 
looked  at  her  son  with  rather  an  anxious  expression  on 
her  face. 

"I  wish  he  would  remain  there,"  he  said,  frowning 
deeply. 

"  Robert!"  she  entreated,  fervently,  "  you  will  not " 

"  I  shall  keep  out  of  his  way,  Mother,  I  shall  have  noth- 
ing at  all  to  do  with  him.  I  pity  Gerhardt.  The  young 
lord  sits  this  time  so  deep  in  the  mire,  I  think  they  can 
scarcely  pull  him  out,  in  spite  of  Ferra's  desperate 
attempts  to  marry  him  off.  The  handsome  Joachim  is  a 
poor  apology  for  a  man." 

"  Poor  Gerhardt,"  sighed  Aunt  Edith. 

Robert  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  Aunt  Theresa  and  Ferra  he  would 
long  ago  have  gone  to  the  dogs.  But  let  us  leave  him; 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  113 

he  is  not  a  profitable  subject  of  conversation.  When  are 
you  coming  to  visit  me,  Mother?"  and  he  looked  affec- 
tionately into  the  eyes  of  the  old  lady.  "  Folkerode  desires 
to  greet  you;  the  old  place  wants  to  see  you  once  more." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

There  was  not  much  sleep  for  anyone  that  night;  there 
was  such  a  tumult  in  the  old  house,  that  one  might 
have  thought  all  the  hunters  from  the  Hartz  Mount- 
ains had  come  over,  and  were  storming  through  the  echo- 
ing corridors.  Doors  were  slammed,  commands  given, 
and  such  loud  conversation  carried  on,  one  would  almost 
think  it  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death  under  discussion. 

Servants  hurried  here  and  there;  luggage  was  dragged 
about;  and  above  all  other  noises  sou-nded,  dictatorial 
and  loud,  a  somewhat  hoarse  man's  voice.  I  also  recog- 
nized Gerhardt's  orders.  I  knew  well  the  deep,  rich 
tones. 

Exclamations  as: 

"  Famous  estate!"  "  Enormous  trees!"  "  By  Jove,  a  cap- 
ital beast!  Down!"  "What  do  you  say  to  scat?"  denoted 
that  Joachim  and  his  guests  had  taken  possession. 

Even  after  the  gentlemen  had  left  the  corridor  and 
gone  to  their  rooms,  we  could  plainly  hear  them  talking 
and  laughing. 

Aunt  Edith  and  Robert  sat  together  on  the  sofa  in 
the  sitting-room;  I  had  retired  early  to  my  room;  I  knew 
they  must  have  so  much  to  talk  about,  they  two  alone. 

It  was  quite  late  when  I  heard  her  go  to  bed. 

For  two  hours  or  more,  confused  dreams,  from  which 
I  would  awake  with  a  start,  kept  sleep  at  bay. 

In  my  dreams  I  saw  a  little  being,  in  bridal  veil,  steal 
down  the  long,  dusky  corridor;  she  wore  a  wreath  of 

O14) 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  115 

deep-red  mallow  blossoms,  that  showed  from  under  the 
veil,  and  Auntie's  cats,  two  by  two,  for  attendants  walked 
behind  her.  There  below,  on  the  stairs,  stood  Aunt 
Theresa,  with  a  strange  smile  on  her  strong  features. 

"  There  comes  Robert  with  Charlotte,"  she  said,  and 
as  I  turned  around  to  see  them  I  awoke. 

I  got  up  the  next  morning  with  a  dizzy  head,  from  my 
restless  night.  Aunt  Edith's  face,  however,  beamed  with 
happiness. 

"  They  were  off  long  ago.  Did  you  not  hear,  Lena, 
when  the  noisy  crowd  departed?  Heavens,  what  a  bed- 
lam! I  have  not  closed  my  eyes  all  night." 

Then  came  Charlotte,  and  as  she  stood  in  the  high  old 
room,  in  her  simple  dark-green  woolen  dress,  that  clung 
in  soft  folds  to  her  slender  figure,  the  beautiful  golden 
hair,  in  heavy  braids,  coiled  high  on  her  head,  and  orna- 
mented with  a  deep-red  rose,  she  seemed  as  I  had 
never  seen  her  before,  much,  much  more  charming;  a 
sweet,  tender,  happy  expression  had  taken  the  place  of 
the  usual  look  of  arrogant  sauciness,  and  endowed  her 
with  a  most  charming  womanliness. 

Dreamily  she  looked  before  her,  and  now  and  then  a 
roguish  smile  would  steal  around  the  sweet  mouth, 
especially  when  her  glance  fell  on  Robert's  picture  hang- 
ing over  the  sewing-table. 

"  They  will  be  back  at  3  o'clock,  dinner  is  to  be  served 
at  half-past;  let  us  see,  what  time  is  it  now?"  she  said, 
hastily,  interrupting  Auntie's  regrets  that  she  had  not 
stayed  a  little  longer,  as  Robert  had  arrived  only  a  few 
moments  after  she  left. 

"  Do  you  know  I  laid  awake  nearly  half  the  night?" 
she  continued.  "Your  story  took  such  a  hold  of  me 
that  sleep  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  You  dear,  sweet 
little  Auntie,  how  you  must  have  suffered;  but  now  it  is 


116  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

all  past;  now  the  beautiful  days  have  come,  and  wonder- 
fully beautiful  all  the  rest  of  your  days  shall  be. 

"Yes,  dear,  if  the  good  God  wills,"  replied  Aunt 
Edith,  who  had  a  hunting-jacket  of  her  son's  on  her  lap, 
and  was  sewing  on  a  button. 

"He  will  permit  it,  Auntie,"  nodded  Charlotte,  assur- 
ingly,  an  unshaken  confidence  in  her  charming  face. 
Then  she  moved  quickly  about  the  room,  and  the  little 
nose  was  evidently  scenting  something.  "  Ah,  ha!  no 
mistaking  it,"  she  said.  "  Tobacco  smoke  has  been 
here.  So  he  has  already  contracted  that  habit?  but  I 

will" She  broke  off,  suddenly,  and  turned  her  blushing 

face  away.  "  I  suppose  a  hunter  is  obliged  to  smoke," 
she  said,  as  if  making  excuses  for  him.  "What  do  you 
think,  Lena?"  she  asked,  still  with  her  face  turned  away. 
"  Shall  we  not  go  into  the  cloister  garden?  It  is  an  age 
since  I  was  with  your  old  Frau  Abbess,  and  Aunt  has  so 
much  here  to  do  that — " 

"Yes,  go,  children,  if  you  want  to.  How  is  it,  Lott- 
chen,  do  you  eat  with  the  gentlemen?" 

"No;  mamma  complains  of  a  headache  and  Ferra  has 
her  stereotyped  megrim.  In  truth,  it  is  all  very  disa- 
greeable on  account  of  Joachim,  and  ill  temper  runs 
high — b-r-r!"  with  a  little  shudder.  "  I  wonder  that  all 
the  walls  in  the  villa  do  not  tumble  about  our  heads. 
Even  the  youngster  screams  incessantly,  to-day,  and  is 
so  wayward  no  one  can  do  anything  with  him.  Ger- 
hardt  looks  dreadfully  worried.  Joachim,  on  the  con- 
trary  .  Do  you  remember  what  papa  used  to  say, 

Auntie,  dear!  'A  hundred  hours  of  worry  pay  not  a 
farthing's  worth  of  debts.'  This  proverb  Joachim  seems 
to  have  made  his  own,  for  in  spite  of  his  disgrace,  for  it 
amounts  to  that,  he  is  as  gay  as  a  lark.  Come,  Lena,  I 
will  not  think  of  it  again  to-day,"  she  added. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  117 

We  went  out  the  next  moment,  along  the  corridor  and 
down  the  stairs,  and  into  the  cloister  garden  that 
seemed  doubly  cheerless  and  deserted  under  the  gray 
autumn  sky,  with  the  shrubs  half-shorn  of  their  foliage 
and  the  unraked  paths,  on  which  the  dry  leaves  lay — 
who  knows  how  thick. 

A  fine  mist  lay  on  the  highest  tops  of  the  trees,  the 
air  was  oppressively  heavy,  and  from  a  distance  now 
and  then  came  the  report  of  a  gun. 

Charlotte  walked  restlessly  up  and  down  in  the  garden. 
She  did  not  seek  the  old  grave,  but  seemed  deep  in 
thought. 

"  It  might  be  so  beautiful  in  the  world  if  it  were  not 
for  the  tfs  and  buts"  she  said,  half  aloud.  "There  is 
always  something  that,  spectre-like,  stands  behind  us 
and  says:  'Be  happy,  but  not  too  happy,  for  I  am 
here.' " 

Then  she  looked  again  at  her  watch,  and  finally  sat 
down  on  a  little  bench,  drew  me  down  beside  her,  and 
was  very  still. 

"Stay  with  me,  Lena,"  she  begged,  as  I  got  up  once 
to  pick  some  asters  that  were  blooming  between  some 
high  nettles  and  really  seemed  to  be  pleading  to  be 
released.  "Pray  do  not  leave  me;  I  must  have  some- 
one near  me  to-day;  I  am  afraid  of  myself." 

I  sat  down  obediently  and  wrapped  my  shawl  about 
me,  for  it  was  chilly. 

Finally  Charlotte  sprang  up  with  a  bound,  her  face 
brightened,  and  she  began  to  sing  softly  as  she  walked. 

"  How  silly  one  is  to  fret  about  what  might  happen," 
she  said,  breaking  off  from  her  singing.  "  Come  here, 
sweetheart,  you  shall  have  a  kiss  for  keeping  me  com- 
pany," she  said,  gayly,  and  carried  out  her  promise. 

In  the  dark  cross-walk  she    stopped  suddenly  still; 


118  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

then  she  flew  rapidly  up  the  steps  and  leaned,  breathing 
heavily,  against  the  newel  of  the  balusters.  I  saw  how 
pale  she  had  become,  and  that  she  was  trembling  in 
every  limb. 

Then  a  man's  voice  came  to  us,  quiet  and  earnest,  as 
a  father  speaks  to  his  child.  Our  glances  followed  the 
direction  of  the  sound  till  they  rested  on  a  partly-open 
door,  one  of  the  dark,  heavy,  always-locked  doors  of  the 
Abbess  House. 

"Gerhardt,"  whispered  Charlotte;  "they  are  in  the 
library." 

"And  if  you  make  me  a  thousand  promises  of 
improvement,  if  you  even  give  me  your  word  of  honor, 
I  have  no  longer  any  faith  in  you.  You  have  destroyed 
my  confidence.  In  my  eyes  you  no  longer  possess  the 
right  to  speak  of  your  honor,  for  you  have  lost  it. 
Since  you — yet  we  will  not  speak  of  that  further." 

Charlotte  had  crouched  down  on  the  stairs  and  her 
face  was  deathly  white;  her  eyes  were  closed  as  if  a 
frightful  blow  threatened  her,  which  she  could  no  longer 
ward  off. 

My  breath  seemed  to  choke  me.  I  cowered  against 
the  balusters,  shaking  with  fear  of  I  knew  not  what.  I 
felt  something  dreadful  must  come  after  those  words. 

But  everything  was  still — one  could  have  heard  a 
feather  fall. 

"  In  spite  of  all  that,"  began  Gerhardt  again,  "  I  will 
do  what  is  possible  to  give  you  at  least  the  appearance 
of  honor  in  the  eyes  of  the  world — not  on  your  own 
account,  no,  I  have  no  sympathy  for  you,  but  for  the 
sake  of  the  good  old  name  that  our  father  left  to  us.  It 
is  well  that  he  is  spared  the  knowledge  of  what  has 
happened  through  the  fault  of  his  son.  I  will  commit 
the  mad  act  of  paying  13,000  thalers  of  your  so-called 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  119 

debts  of  honor,  and  in  so  doing  am  wronging  the  rest 
of  us.  When  I  learned  yesterday  in  what  manner  you 
have  been  able  to  extend  your  credit,  I  felt  like  putting 
a  bullet  through  my  head,  although  that  is  what  you 
should  have  wished  to  do  to  yourself.  I  have  asked 
myself  again  and  again  how  it  was  possible  for  you  to 
do  this  thing,  to  yourself  and  to  me,  and  I  find  no 
answer.  I  will  take  good  care  that  no  one  besides  our- 
selves shall  know  of  this  affair;  the  interests  of  the 
family  demand  it.  One  thing  more:  You  have,  up  to 
the  present  time,  used  up  a  fortune  of  20,000  thalers, 
and  besides,  I  have,  during  your  short  career  as  officer, 
paid  at  least  10,000  thalers'  worth  of  debts  for  you.  Now, 
this  is  the  last,  for  I  can  not  ruin  myself  for  you.  Ferra, 
also,  possesses  almost  nothing  of  her  former  fortune, 
and  the  demands  her  luxurious  habits  make,  besides  the 
education  of  her  son,  fall  upon  my  shoulders.  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  retrench  in  every  way;  consequently,  this 
money  is  the  last  you  will  receive  from  me,  so  govern 
yourself  accordingly.  That  is  now  all  that  I  have  to 
say  to  you.  I  think,  moreover,  you  know  how  we  stand; 
we  are — " 

"For  God's  sake,  come,"  whispered  Charlotte,  getting 
up,  and  going  hastily  down  the  steps. 

I  would  have  followed  her,  but  my  strength  failed  me 
from  fear,  for  I  heard  a  spur-ringing  step,  and  a  young 
man  came  out  and  approached  me,  fortunately  with- 
out seeing  me.  It  was  a  slender,  elegant  figure,  in  the 
stylish  hunting  costume  of  the  present  day.  He  slashed 
about  with  a  small  riding-whip,  and  his  handsome  face, 
which  strongly  resembled  Ferra's,  wore  an  expression  of 
sullen  anger. 

He  muttered  an  oath,  remained  standing  a  few 
moments  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the  upper 


120  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

corridor,  thoughtfully  twisting  the  ends  of  his  well-kept 
mustache,  then  began  to  whistle  softly  and  went  on. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  hearing,  I  slipped  down  the 
steps  and  found  Charlotte  sitting  on  one  of  the  stone 
benches  in  the  cross-walk.  She  had  been  weeping,  and 
great  drops  still  hung  on  the  dark  lashes. 

"  Magdalena,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  what  we  have  heard 
remains  a  secret  between  us,  always,  always!  Promise 
me  that." 

"  Yes,  Charlotte,"  I  answered. 

"  Because  he  still  is  my  brother,"  she  said,  softly,  and 
then  broke  into  bitter  weeping. 

I  sat  down  beside  her,  caressed  and  kissed  her,  and 
would  so  gladly  have  comforted  her  had  I  only  known 
how. 

"  Do  you  know  what  he  has  done?"  I  asked. 

She  shook  her  head;  "  I  can  not  think— it  must — O, 
let  us  leave  it,  I  can  not  speak  it  aloud,  I  suffer  so  for 
Gerhardt,"  and  again  she  bent  her  head  and  wept. 

As  soon  as  it  was  quite  dark  we  went  up  to  Aunt 
Edith.  It  was  very  still  above,  in  the  old  house.  Only 
occasionally  came  up  the  murmur  of  the  animated  con- 
versation at  the  dinner-table.  They  ate  in  the  immense 
dining-hall  on  the  lower  floor,  directly  under  the  rooms 
occupied  by  Aunt  Edith,  and  to-day  the  big  roasts  were 
turned  on  spits,  in  the  basement  kitchen. 

Robert  had  been  with  his  mother  in  the  interval,  and, 
as  she  said,  had  waited  a  long  time  with  his  cousin;  he 
was  the  last  one  at  the  table.  And  Joachim  had  come 
in  a  moment  to  see  her,  as  in  duty  bound  to  inquire  how 
she  was.  "He  is  just  the  same,"  she  continued, 
"  handsome  as  a  picture,  careless,  and — shallow.  He 
was  angry.  I'm  quite  anxious  to  know  whom  he  has 
been  quarreling  with." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  121 

Charlotte  did  not  answer.  I  furtively  seized  her 
hand.  Ah,  yes.  Everything  seemed  so  enviable  in  that 
splendid  villa,  to  the  careless  observer,  and  yet,  sorrow 
sat  there,  in  some  one  corner,  and  looked  around  with 
great,  lurking  eyes,  and  made  anxious,  by  her  presence, 
all  who  dwelt  beneath  its  roof. 

"  Poor  Gerhardt,  how  much  he  has  to  trouble  him," 
whispered  Charlotte. 

Evening  came,  and  as  Aunt  Edith  lighted  the  lamp,  I 
slipped  out.  I  knew  Gottlieb  sat  in  our  kitchen,  and  it 
was  my  greatest  pleasure  to  chat  a  little  with  the  old 
man.  He  possessed  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  fables  and 
stories  of  his  home;  of  mighty  dances  on  the  Blocks- 
berge;  of  uncomfortable  ghosts  of  the  wild  hunters, 
and  the  giant  Bods,  who  pursued  the  king's  daughter, 
which  he  was  never  weary  of  relating  to  George  and  me. 

This  evening  it  was  not  the  desire  to  hear  his  tales 
that  drove  me  out.  I  was  filled  with  anxiety  and  unrest. 
I  wanted  to  see  something  beside  Charlotte's  sorrowful 
face. 

Aunt  Edith's  kitchen  was  as  pleasant  as  a  sitting- 
room,  with  its  fire-place  and  the  shining  copper  and  brass 
vessels  hanging  on  the  walls,  the  clean-scoured  pine 
table,  the  cupboard  for  the  table-ware,  the  large  flowered 
wall-paper,  and  the  old  Dutch  clock  with  its  polished 
brass  weights,  which  ticked  on  the  wall;  between  hearth 
and  table  stood  Jette's  spinning-wheel;  and  it  was  a 
pleasant  picture  to  look  upon  Gottlieb's  rosy-cheeked 
grandchild  spinning  in  her  clean  kitchen. 

This  evening  she  was  not  there;  she  had  gone  to  carry 
some  soup  to  some  one  of  Aunt's  countless  sick  people. 
Gottlieb  sat  in  her  place  and  carved  a  twirling-stick,  a 
work  at  which  he  was  peculiarly  skillful. 

He  stood  up  respectfully  as  I  came  in;  and  after  I  had 


122  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

sat  down  by  the  hearth,  he  continued  with  his  carving, 
and  began,  without  being  asked,  to  relate: 

"Far  westward,  in  the  depths  of  the  mountains, 
there  runs  a  pretty  stream  through  the  valley  that  is 
called  the  Selke;  it  has  made  a  fine  bed  for  itself  along 
the  meadows  and  high  mountains  on  both  sides,  and 
above,  Castle  Falkenstein  looks  boldly  down  and  mirrors 
its  towers  and  battlements  in  the  clear  river. 

"Opposite  the  castle  is  a  mountain  that  is  called  the 
Tidian,  and  if  I  had  what  is  hidden  there  I  would  be 
richer  than  the  king;  but  no  one  knows  in  what  place  the 
treasure  lies,  or  how  to  raise  it  up. 

"  Many  hundred  years  ago  there  came  a  knight  from 
Falkenstein  to  a  goldsmith's  in  the  next  town,  and  asked 
to  see  some  women's  ornaments,  for  he  wanted  to  buy  a 
gold  neck-chain,  or  bracelets,  or  some  such  thing  that 
women  love,  but  there  was  nothing  good  enough  for  him. 

"  Then  the  goldsmith  brought  two  little,  sparkling  coins 
in  his  hand,  and  said:  '  Noble  Herr  Knight,  as  you  do  not 
think  that  gold  fine  enough,  I  will  make  you  a  little 
chain  from  this,  and  finer  you  will  not  see  the  world 
over.'  They  glistened  so  they  almost  blinded  the  knight, 
and  he  said:  '  Where  have  you  found  such  splendid  gold?' 

"  'An  old  shepherd  brings  it  to  me,  that  is  in  your  serv- 
ice, noble  Knight,'  answered  the  goldsmith.  Then  the 
knight  threw  himself  upon  his  steed,  and  riding  home 
with  great  speed,  summoned  the  shepherd  before 
him.  The  shepherd  turned  pale,  but  would  not  tell 
where  he  had  found  the  gold,  and  all  the  commands  and 
threats  were  of  no  avail.  Weeks  of  imprisonment  could 
not  make  the  old  man  give  up  his  secret.  There " 

But  I  heard  no  more,  for  outside  in  the  corridor 
sounded  suddenly  a  man's  voice,  in  loud,  excited  tones; 
almost  fiercely  it  rang  out  with  anger  and  wine: 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  123 

"  I  know  you!"  cried  the  voice.  "  Do  you  think  I  have 
forgotten  how,  like  a  sneak,  you  always  took  every 
opportunity  secretly  to  interfere  with  me,  and  get  the 
advantage."  Old  Gottlieb  sprang  up,  and  looked  anx- 
iously to  the  door;  his  rugged  old  face  had  grown  pale. 
"  I  pray  you,  Joachim,"  sounded  now  Robert's  deep  voice; 
"you  are  excited  and  provoked.  I  swear  to  you  I  have 
not  spoken  one  word  with  Gerhardt  about  your  affairs; 
forget  our  childhood;  we  are  men  now,  and  I  never  meant 
any  wrong  to  you." 

A  scornful  laugh  was  the  answer. 

"You  miserable  knave!"  thundered  Robert's  voice, 
now  full  of  rage.  We  heard  hasty  steps  forward,  then  it 
was  still  a  moment. 

"  Reinsberg  will  further  communicate  with  you,"  said 
Joachim,  calmly,  and  each  syllable  was  clearly  enun- 
ciated. 

A  spur-clanging  step,  a  door  flung  to,  then  no  sound, 
no  tone,  deep  quiet  again  as  before.  The  knife  and 
stick  had  slipped  from  Gottlieb's  hands.  He  stood, 
deeply  troubled,  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen. 

"I  feared  it!  I  feared  it!"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "It  is 
just  as  it  used  to  be.  What  will  come  out  of  it,  and 
what  can  one  do?" 

He  shook  his  head  helplessly,  then  he  looked  over  to 
me,  as  if  he  would  ask  advice;  but  I  had  no  idea  what 
the  quarrel  was  about,  and  especially  what  the  last 
words  signified. 

"  If  it  had  been  twenty  years  ago,  I  could  have  taken 
him  by  the  ear  and  led  him  to  his  father,"  continued 
Gottlieb;  "  but  to-day,  the  father  is  no  more,  and  the  boy 
has  become  a  man.  I  can  not  do  anything,  Fraulein,  and 
if  they  both " 

He  stopped,  and  again  looked  questioningly  at  me, 


124  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

but  what  the  old  eyes  really  wanted  of  me,  I  did  not 
understand. 

"They  never  could  endure  each  other,  Gottlieb,  isn't 
it  so,  they  were  always  quarreling  as  children?"  I  asked, 
for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

"Yes,  that  is  true,  and  an  old  quarrel  is  easily 
renewed.  For  three  days  I  have  gone  around  in  fear 
and  trembling,  because  I  knew  they  were  together,  and 
now  it  has  gone  so  far,  who  knows  how  it  will  end?" 

His  head  sank,  and  he  stood  in  troubled  thought. 
"Ah,  God  pity  you;"  he  spoke  low,  as  if  to  himself. 
"  What  more  must  be  lived  through  in  this  house?" 

"  Tell  me,  Gottlieb,"  I  said,  a  nameless  dread  pos- 
sessing me,  "  what  do  you  mean?  Is  it  so  dreadful  for 
them  to  disagree?  It  is  all  over  now,  and  they  separated 
quietly " 

"  H'm,  child,  yes,  because  it  was  done.  They  would 
not  fall  on  top  of  one  another,  and  tear  the  buttons  off 
their  jackets  like  school-boys.  What  did  I  hear  Joachim 
say?  'Reinsberg  will  communicate  with  you  further.' 
Do  you  see?  That  was  plain,  no  use  to  waste  any  more 
words;  they  take  a  pair  of  pistols — then  it  is  I  or 
you!" 

I  had  sprung  up;  I  was  trembling  with  fear.  "A 
duel?  How  terrible!"  As  quick  as  lightning  a  series  of 
fearful  possibilities  flew  through  my  mind.  "  Aunt,  Char- 
lotte," I  whispered;  it  was  too  terrible  to  think  of. 

"It  can  not  be,  it  is  not  possible,  Gottlieb!"  I  stam- 
mered. "It  is  not  possible.  You  must  be  wrong;  why, 
they  dare  not  do  it!  Do  you  hear,  Gottlieb,  they  dare 
not  do  such  a  thing!  I — what  can  I  do?  O,  what  can 
I  do?" 

I  shook  the  old  man's  arm  with  impetuous  fear. 
"Would  to  God  I  was  mistaken,"  murmured  the  old 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  125 

man,  "  but  I  know  how  it  goes.  What  they  have  both 
said  they  can  never  take  back,  and  yet  it  is  not  worth  a 
charge  of  powder.  What  can  you  do?  Nothing,  child, 
nothing.  Pray  to-night  for  the  old  mistress,  in  there, 
that  the  dear  God  does  not  take  her  all.  That  is  all  you 
can  do,  little  one,  that  is  all  you  can  do." 

"O,  I  can  try,"  I  cried.  "I  will  go  to  Robert;  I  will 
entreat  Joachim " 

"  Herr  Robert  can  do  nothing,"  declared  Gottlieb, 
shaking  his  head.  "  He  was  the  assailant;  and  go  to 
Herr  Joachim — no  Fraulein — I  would  place  myself  with 
outstretched  arms  before  his  door.  Where  the  wine  has 
possession  of  the  head,  is  no  place  for  a  pure,  young  girl." 

"  Lena!  Lena!  where  are  you?"  called  Aunt  Edith  at 
this  moment,  and  her  dear  face  looked  around  the  arras- 
door  that  separated  the  kitchen  from  her  room. 

"Quick!  come,  come,  I  will  show  you  something,  and 
anything  lovelier  you  have  never  seen."  She  reached 
her  hand  to  me,  and  seemingly  without  any  will  of  my 
own,  I  went  over  to  her,  gave  her  my  hand,  and  let  her 
draw  me  from  the  room. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  she  whispered,  in  the  dark  room 
that  usually  stood  empty,  but  now  occupied  by  Robert. 
"  There,  in  the  sitting-room,  sjts  something  that  is  one 
and  yet  is  two,  that  is  transported  to  heaven,  and  yet 
weeps  great  tears,  little  one.  It  is  the  most  beautiful 
sight  that  you  can  see  in  the  world.  Observe  it  closely, 
that  later  sometime  you  may  know  what  it  is;  and  do  not 
forget,  in  your  astonishment,  to  make  a  pretty  speech. 
Truly,  Lena,  are  you  curious?  I  think  I  can  hear  your 
breath,  it  goes  so  fast,  so — now  go  in." 

I  wanted  to  cry  out:  "Leave  me, you  poor, dear  Auntie!" 
but  she  had  pushed  me  swiftly  through  the  door.  I 
groped  with  my  hand  after  the  nearest  chair;  the  room, 


126  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

the  lamp,  everything  swam  before  my  eyes.  Only  one 
thing  fastened  itself  clear  and  full  on  my  vision.  Auntie 
was  right,  nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  in  all  the 
world. 

There  stood  the  two  that  were  one,  close  in  each 
other's  arms.  Charlotte's  fair  head  lay  on  the  breast  of 
the  noble-looking  man,  her  eyes  were  raised  to  his,  full 
of  a  tender,  fond  devotion  as  if  they  would  say:  "  Here 
alone  is  my  place." 

His  face  I  could  not  see,  but  when  he  raised  his  head 
and  looked  over  to  me,  I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping. 

"  Little  Magdalena,"  cried  Charlotte,  "  come  here  and 
give  me  a  kiss;  you  little  sly  one,  I  have  long  seen  from 
your  shining  eyes  that  you  had  found  out  our  secret." 

She  kissed  me  warmly  on  the  mouth,  and  by  the 
movement,  one  of  the  coils  of  her  lovely  hair  loosened 
from  its  place,  and  fell  heavy  and  glistening  down  over 
her  shoulder. 

"  Like  a  golden  chain,  Lottchen,"  he  said,  and  touched 
the  glorious  hair. 

"Wait!"  she  said,  merrily,  drying  quickly  the  last  tears 
that  hung  on  her  lashes.  "  It  shall  be  a  chain  for  you." 

She  raised  the  tress,  threw  it  around  his  neck  and 
fastened  the  ends  again,  so  that  he  was  imprisoned  in 
glittering  fetters. 

"  Now  you  are  mine  forever.  Now  nothing  can  sepa- 
rate us  but  death — do  you  hear,  you  poor  man?  There 
is  no  chance  possible  for  you  to  run  away." 

I  looked  at  him  anxiously.  I  saw  his  face  whiten,  and 
saw  how  he  suddenly  pressed  the  slender  figure  to  him. 

"Nothing  now,  Charlotte;  but  let  us  not  think  of  that 
to-night.  We  live  to-day — you  and  I,  and  our  dear 
mother — our  dear,  good  mother." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  127 

That  made  Charlotte,  with  a  little  cry  of  love,  spring 
from  his  arms,  and  kneel  down  before  the  arm-chair  of 
the  old  lady.  They  laughed,  and  wept,  and  kissed  each 
other,  and,  between  whiles,  Charlotte  chattered  of  the 
green  forest,  and  that  she  should  live  there;  and,  just  like 
her  dear  little  mother,  on  foot  and  in  her  bridal  dress, 
she  would  go  with  her  husband  to  the  dear,  solitary 
huntsman's  house.  And  Auntie  sat  listening,  the  light 
of  blessed  joy  in  her  face,  and  then  she  threw  her 
arms  around  Charlotte's  neck. 

"My  little  daughter,"  she  said,  warmly;  "  O,  who 
would  have  thought " 

I  could  not  bear  any  longer  the  sight  of  this  happiness, 
knowing  such  a  danger  threatened  it.  I  threw  myself  on 
my  bed  and  wept  and  prayed,  and  my  teeth  chattered; 
I  was  in  a  nervous  chill.  A  thousand  impossible  plans 
darted  through  my  brain.  I  reached  a  hundred  conclu- 
sions, only  to  give  them  up  again;  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  my  weakness  and  powerlessness  only  enhanced 
my  excitement. 

I  ran  again  to  the  kitchen,  but  Gottlieb  was  not  there; 
then  my  impulse  was  to  go  to  that  room — Joachim's 
room.  I  shrank  from  the  handsome  man  and  his  rude 
bearing.  He  did  not  know  me;  but  in  spite  of  all  I  had 
the  courage  to  go  to  him.  What  should  I  say?  I  did 
not  know;  my  heart  beat  so,  I  seemed  to  hear  it.  Tim- 
idly, I  laid  my  hand  on  the  latch — a  kind  of  vertigo 
seized  me.  Inside  I  heard  a  chair  shoved  back,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  howl  of  a  dog  in  pain,  mingled  with 
brutal  blows  from  a  whip,  that  were  pitilessly  descending 
on  the  poor  creature. 

"You  d — n  brute!"  he  screamed. 

I  flew  back,  terrified,  and  close  behind  me  the  beast 
who  had  been  kicked  from  the  room.  She  was  a  splen- 


128  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

did  brown  pointer.  She  rushed  by  me  violently  and  into 
my  room.  I  cowered  down  in  the  darkness  near  her, 
and  threw  my  arms  around  her  neck,  and  the  poor 
creature  licked  me  and  whined  softly. 

From  Auntie's  room  sounded  Charlotte's  happy  voice. 
She  laughed,  and  joked,  and  teased.     O,  I  could  think 
how  charming  she  was,  in  her  abandonment  and  happi- 
ness! but  I  did  not  wish  to  see  her  in  my  misery. 
"  My  sweetheart  is  a  hunter." 

She  was  singing  now  her  favorite  song;  and  now  she 
was  talking  again;  and  now  a  merry  laugh;  and  some- 
times between  his  deep  voice,  so  soft,  so  tender.  Then 
she  missed  me,  and  before  I  knew  it,  Charlotte  stood 
before  me  with  a  lamp,  and  asked,  wonderingly,  what  I 
was  doing  with  Joachim's  Lady. 

I  was  frightened,  and  yet  was  glad  I  could  say  that 
Joachim  had  beaten  her  so  that  she  ran  to  my  room. 

A  fleeting  shadow  passed  a  moment  over  Charlotte's 
rosy  face. 

"How  revolting!"  she  cried,  as  she  stroked  the  beast, 
then  drew  me  back  with  her  into  the  sitting-room. 
Lady  was  shut  up  for  the  time  being  in  Robert's  room, 
as  a  great  contest  seemed  imminent  with  the  cats.  With 
all  the  self-control  I  could  command,  I  sat  and  heard 
Charlotte  build  the  loveliest  air  castles.  She  would  "  not 
say  a  word  about  her  new  happiness  to-night  to  Ger- 
hardt,  'for  he  would  not  be  able  to  sleep;  and  sleep  is 
very  necessary  to  him  in  these  trying  days;'  but  to-mor- 
row, when  the  guests  are  gone,  then  I  will  prepare  him 
with  the  most  skillful  diplomacy,  and  then — Robert,  you 
must  come  in.  O,  heavens!  what  will  Ferra  say?"  she 
laughed  gayly,  "  and  mamma?" 

She  stopped  suddenly. 

Robert  sat  by  her  side.     He  seemed  to  be  drinking  in 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  129 

every  word  from  her  lips.  He  held  her  hand  in  both  of 
his,  and  now  and  then  softly  stroked  her  fair  hair,  as  if 
he  could  not  realize  that  the  beautiful  girl  at  his  side 
really  and  truly  belonged  to  him. 

There  came  a  knock  on  the  door,  and  a  servant 
entered.  He  announced  that  Herr  Lieut,  von  Reins- 
berg  wished  to  speak  with  Herr  High-forester  Berka. 

I  knew  what  he  wished;  yes,  Gottlieb  was  right.  I 
gazed  after  the  slender  man  as  he  went  to  his  room 
with  a  firm  step. 

It  seemed  to  me  I  must  catch  hold  of  him,  and  invol- 
untarily I  sprang  up  and  stretched  out  my  hand,  then 
sank  back  again,  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"  Child,  you  are  ill!"  exclaimed  Charlotte; "  come  here; 
what  hot  hands  you  have;  you  have  a  chill." 

And  Aunt  Edith  commanded  I  should  immediately  go 
to  bed. 

With  all  sorts  of  lively  bantering  and  chatting,  they 
put  me  to  rest,  and  Charlotte  treated  me  as  if  I  were  a 
baby  four  years  old. 

"  Now  lie  still,"  she  said,  "  and  you  shall  have  a  lull- 

y~  '  Licsa  had  a  sweetheart, 

Gretta  wished  one  as  fine. 
Ah  Gretta,  seek  valley  and  mountain, 
But  there  is  only  one  like  mine.'  " 

She  sang  and  laughed.  "  Did  you  ever  see  a  better?" 
I  clasped  my  hot  head  with  my  hands;  what  might  now 
be  determined  between  Joachim  and  Robert? 

"  Let  her  be,  Lottchen;"  said  Aunt  Edith,  and  bent 
lovingly  over  me;  "she  is  quite  used  up.  Sleep, my  little 
one;  that  is  the  best  restorer;  sleep;  I  will  come  again 
soon,  and  see  how  you  are." 

And  then  it  was  still  around  me.  I  was  no  longer 
forced  to  hear  their  talk  of  happiness.  After  a  time 
o 


130  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

Auntie  came  again,  and  as  she  found  me  awake,  she 
pushed  the  bed  curtains  to  one  side  and  sat  down  by 
me. 

"  Lena,  what  do  you  say  to  it?  I  should  like  to  know; 
for  see,  I  have  not  gotten  over  my  astonishment  yet;  I 
did  not  suspect  such  a  thing.  I  was  sitting  there  quietly, 
telling  Lottchen  something  or  other,  and  there  stormed 
the  curly  head  into  the  room,  and  before  I  knew  it,  had 
taken  the  child  in  his  arms,  and  then  it  all  came  out  that 
they  had  loved  each  other  for  years,  and  had  been 
promised  to  one  another  for  a  long  time.  Lotta  was 
frightened,  too,  at  first,  for  no  one  ever  knew  Robert  to 
be  so  impetuous."  She  gave  a  deep  sigh,  and  continued: 
"  What  will  Charlotte's  mother  say?" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I  could  not  sleep  that  night.  Outside  in  the  corridor, 
it  was  long  before  it  was  still,  and  once  I  heard  Joachim's 
voice  giving  orders  to  have  early  in  the  morning — at  6 
o'clock — two  carriages  in  the  park  at  the  red  beech. 

At  6  o'clock! 

I  knew  that  the  household  would  not  be  stirring  much 
before  8  o'clock.  Would  they  then  carry  out  their  dread- 
ful purpose,  that  would  bring  such  misery  to  this  house? 
I  sat  up  in  bed  and  thought,  and  thought.  It  had  now 
become  deathly  still  in  the  old  house.  I  could  hear 
Auntie's  quiet  breathing  in  the  next  room.  She  had  no 
presentiment  of  the  dark  shadow  that  threatened  to 
darken  her  happiness. 

Was  it,  then,  not  wrong  of  Robert,  very  wrong,  that 
he  fettered  Charlotte  before  the  decision?  or  would  he 
for  just  once  feel  the  joy  of  possession  before  he,  possi- 
bly forever 

And  there,  in  the  villa,  slept  Charlotte.  I  fancied  I 
could  see  her  smiling  in  her  dreams,  or  was  she  awake, 
also,  possibly  from  anxiety  over  the  judgment  of  her 
mother  on  her  choice? 

"  How  will  it  be  to-morrow  at  this  time?"  I  asked 
myself,  and  restlessly  tossed  myself  about  the  bed;  and 
the  gray  dawn  found  me  still  sleepless,  tortured  with  my 
thoughts. 

Then  everything  was  clear  to  me.  Why  had  I  not 
thought  of  it  before?  Gerhardt  must  be  able  to  counsel; 

(131) 


132  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

Gerhardt  alone  could  help!  I  slipped,  in  my  stocking 
feet,  to  Auntie's  bed.  She  had  a  little  clock  there,  whose 
rapid  ticking  I  had  heard  all  night;  it  was  twenty  min- 
utes past  5.  I  looked  a  moment  into  the  dear  face  on 
the  pillow;  she  was  smiling  in  her  sleep,  her  hands 
folded  peacefully  on  her  breast;  the  glimmer  from  the 
night-lamp  threw  a  reddish  sheen  on  the  hymn-book 
that  lay  open  on  the  little  table  near  the  bed. 

"  Should  I  to  my  God  not  sing? 
Should  I  to  Him  not  thankful  be?" 

I  read  on  the  open  page.  How  full  of  gratitude  her 
heart  was  last  night.  How  she  prayed  for  her  children, 
for  her  new  daughter,  and  for  a  peaceful  future,  where 
all  strife  and  enmity  were  buried. 

Quickly  I  slipped  back  into  my  room  and  threw  myself 
into  my  clothes,  covered  myself  with  a  shawl,  latched 
softly  my  door,  and  hurriedly  stole  down  the  corridor. 
The  silence  of  early  morning  reigned  everywhere;  only 
Lady,  who  lay  on  the  mat  before  her  ill-tempered  mas- 
ter's door,  raised  up  her  head  and  growled,  then  recog- 
nized me  and  followed  on  behind.  There  was  an  uncom- 
fortable twilight  in  the  hallway  and  a  perceptible  cold 
came  through  the  high,  open  door  of  the  vestibule. 
Someone  was  already  up,  and  I  had  not  a  moment  to 
lose  if  I 

"Yes,  what?"  I  asked  myself,  as  I  went  with  flying 
steps  through  the  park,  and  the  wet  and  fog  hung  to 
my  garments.  Gerhardt  should  know  what  I  heard! 
Gerhardt  alone  can  help!  That  rang  through  my  head 
and  heart,  and  my  feet  flew  yet  quicker  over  the  wet, 
fallen  leaves.  For  a  moment  I  stood  still;  I  thought  I 
heard  the  crack  of  a  whip  and  the  roll  of  wagon  wheels 
from  the  depths  of  the  park;  then  I  went  on  in  anxious 
haste. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  133 

The  villa  lay  before  me,  and  the  scarlet  leaves  of  the 
woodbine  gleamed  out  sharply  from  the  white  columns 
of  the  charming  house. 

At  some  of  the  windows  the  curtains  were  lowered, 
but  the  double  doors  of  the  entrance  to  the  vestibule 
were  wide  open,  and  above,  on  the  balcony,  a  housemaid 
was  brushing  cushions  and  mats  that  were  scattered 
about  in  countless  numbers  in  Frau  von  Demphoff's 
room.  Without  being  seen  by  her,  I  walked  into  the 
vestibule  and  up  the  marble  staircase.  The  covers  lay 
still  at  one  side,  and  a  servant  in  careless  morning  dress, 
with  frowzy  hair,  was  busy  wiping  off  the  bronze  trellis- 
work. 

"  Can  I  speak  with  Herr  von  Demphoff?"  I  asked, 
breathless,  and  the  servant  stared  at  me  with  open 
mouth. 

"  No,"  was  his  answer,  "  the  Herr  is  still  asleep." 

"  How  long  will  it  be  before  he  gets  up?  I  am  in  great 
haste;  it  is  very  necessary  that  I  speak  with  him,"  I  said. 

"  I  believe  the  Herr  is  not  quite  well,"  replied  the 
man,  openly  showing  his  astonishment. 

"I  am  very  sorry;  but  in  this  case  you  must  awaken 
the  gentleman." 

Embarrassed,  he  scratched  his  ear  and  murmured 
something  about  "  ask  "  and  "  speak  to  Anna." 

"  For  God's  sake,  do  not  delay,  but  awaken  him  at 
once,"  I  entreated. 

But  he  had  already  vanished,  and  in  the  next  moment 
Anna  appeared — my  first  not  exactly  pleasant  acquaint- 
ance in  Wendhusen — out  of  Ferra's  room,  and  looked 
up  at  me  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  anxious  and  won- 
dering. 

"  What  would  the  young  lady  like?"  she  said,  in  her 
malicious  tone. 


134  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  I  must  speak  with  my  cousin  immediately;  please 
awaken  him." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  pushed  back  the 
fresh  little  morning  cap  from  her  forehead. 

"I  am  extremely  sorry,"  she  said,  flippantly;  "but  I 
can  not  possibly  awaken  the  gentleman;  that  doesn't 
belong  to  my  duties." 

"  Tell  the  servant  to  do  so,"  I  cried,  trembling  from 
anxiety  and  anger,  "  do  you  hear?  it  is  something  very 
important — would  I  have  come  here  at  such  an  early 
hour  if  it  were  not?" 

"  I  have  no  commands  to  give  to  Joseph,"  she  replied, 
and  stepped  back  into  the  open  room,  where  she  picked 
up  a  dainty  feather-duster,  and  applied  herself  with  such 
pretension  to  her  work,  that  I  plainly  saw  a  stone  would 
soften  sooner  than  I  could  make  any  impression  upon 
her. 

"Joseph,"!  cried,  half  aloud,  but  Joseph  was  again 
brushing  the  stairs,  and  appeared  not  to  hear  me. 

The  blood  seemed  boiling  in  my  veins;  the  next 
moment  I  was  before  him.  "  Go  awaken  your  master 
immediately!"  I  cried,  commandingly,  stamping  my  foot. 
"  Go  this  moment!" 

He  looked  at  me  surprised. 

"Why,  Cousin!  do  I  see  aright?"  I  heard  Gerhardt's 
voice  behind  me;  I  turned,  still  agitated  by  the  obstinacy 
of  the  man;  my  hands  were  clenched. 

He  looked  at  me  surprised  and  anxious,  but  directly 
came  to  me  like  a  blow  the  remembrance  of  what  brought 
me  there.  He  had  evidently  been  long  awake,  for  he 
was  in  his  accustomed  gray  morning  attire,  and  had  on 
the  high  boots  that  he  wore  when  he  rode  in  the  fields; 
in  his  hand  he  held  an  open  letter. 

"  I  must  speak  with  you — quick — before  it  is  too  late," 


CLOIST^       WENDHUSEN.  135 

I  stammered,  and  needing  support  took  his  offered  arm, 
and  went  with  him  into  his  room. 

"  Drink  first,  Cousin,"  he  begged,  and  handed  me  his 
cup  with  strong  fragrant  tea,  as  he  led  me  to  a  seat,  but 
I  pushed  his  arm  back. 

"  I  thank  you,  Cousin,  later — you  have  no  time — 
Robert — Joachim " 

I  stopped  in  my  rapid  speech,  for  his  face  had  become 
ashen  gray. 

"What,  Magdalena?  speak  more  calmly.  What  is  it 
about  Robert  and  Joachim?" 

"  They  quarreled,  and  Joachim  challenged  him " 

"  Whom?" 

"  Robert." 

He  stood  motionless,  and  looked  at  me  as  if  he 
doubted  my  words. 

"  They  were  to  go  away  at  6  o'clock,"  I  continued, 
pointing  to  the  marble  clock  on  the  mantel-piece. 

"  How  did  you  know  this,  child?" 

I  related  to  him,  with  rapid  words,  how  I  had  been 
with  Gottlieb  in  the  kitchen;  how  I  overheard  the 
quarrel  and  the  challenge.  I  gave  Joachim's  exact  words 
and  related  how  Lieut,  von  Reinsberg  really  came  to 
Robert. 

Meanwhile  Gerhardt  had  seized  his  hat,  and  put  on 
his  overcoat;  then  he  hurriedly  sought  about  for  some- 
thing, the  well-known  gray  scarf,  and  threw  it  about  his 
neck. 

"  Come,  Magdalena;  you  have  my  earnest  thanks;  I 
will  speak  with  Joachim." 

With  quick  steps  we  left  the  villa  and  hastened 
through  the  park.  Several  times  he  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  every  time  his  face  darkened.  When  we  finally  stood 
before  the  door  of  the  old  cloister,  the  clock  struck  six; 


136  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

the  sharp  tones  cut  through  the  damp,  cold,  morning  air. 

We  looked  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  It  is  too  late,"  I  whispered.  "  O  Gerhardt,  Ger- 
hardt,  it  is  too  late!" 

"Do  not  be  so  anxious,  Magdalena;  go  up-stairs;  you 
will  be  ill  with  so  much  agitation;  go,dear;  I  will  come 
as  soon  as  I  can  bring  you  any  comforting  word." 

"  Is  my  brother  in  his  room?"  he  questioned  of  a  serv- 
ant who  was  coming  toward  us. 

"Yes,  Herr  von  Demphoff." 

Gerhardt  moved  up  the  stairs.  I  followed  him,  and 
saw  him  enter  Joachim's  room;  but  at  the  same  moment 
I  saw  him  turn  back  and,  without  noticing  me,  he  rushed 
by  me,  and  I  heard  him  order  his  horse.  I  ran  after  him 
and  saw  him  vanish  out  of  the  door.  My  thought3  went 
with  him.  Would  he  be  in  time?  Could  he  prevent  the 
frightful  affair  if  he  were?  Perhaps  he  would  not  be 
able  to  find  them.  Heavens!  it  was  useless  for  him  to 
go;  who  knew  where  they  were?  Then  came  Gottlieb 
slowly  up  the  stairs. 

"  Fraulein  Lena,  you  have  meant  well,  but " 

"  But,  Gottlieb?" 

"If  you  had  gone  to  Herr  Gerhardt  von  Demphoff 
last  evening " 

I  was  silent;  the  thought  never  came  to  me  in  my 
anxiety. 

"  Gottlieb,  why  did  you  not  go  to  my  cousin?" 

"  I?  Ah,  Fraulein,  that  is You  do  not  understand 

what  it  is  when  two  gentlemen  challenge  each  other;  no 
man  dares  to  thrust  his  nose  in  between,  at  least  an  old, 
half-discharged  servant,  that  by  accident  had  listened; 
not  even  when  he  many  a  time  has  carried  them  in  his 
arms  when  they  were  children,  as  if  they  were  his  own, 
and  watched  their  every  step.  No,  Fraulein,  and  if  I 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  137 

knew  surely  a  great  misfortune  would  come  of  it  I 
would  not  move  a  finger — by  no  means.  One  could  for- 
give a  young  girl,  if  from  pure  anxiety  she  should  con- 
fide to  her  aunt  what  was  not  forbidden  her.  Yes,  if  it 
were  yesterday  evening,  possibly  Herr  Gerhardt  might 
have  been.able  to  do  something,  but  not  this  morning. 
They  were  over  the  mountains  before  6  o'clock,  probably 
to  some  quiet  little  spot  in  the  Mill-valley.  God  grant 
the  best!" 

He  shook  his  gray  head  sorrowfully  and  stared 
thoughtfully  into  space,  and  I  stood  near  him,  shivering 
and  trembling  from  cold  and  fear. 

"  There  comes  the  Herr  back  again,"  he  said,  and  I 
looked  over  the  balusters  and  saw  Gerhardt  just  coming 
up  the  stairs. 

"  I  will  not  go,"  he  said,  briefly;  "it  would  be  quite 
useless.  Should  I  come  up  with  them  I  could  not  hinder 
it.  The  old,  unholy  hate,"  he  murmured,  and  at  this 
moment  he  looked  indescribably  ill  and  broken.  Invol- 
untarily I  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm.  I  wanted  to  say 
something  comforting,  but  I  could  not  find  the  right 
word  in  my  terrible  anxiety. 

"How  white  you  are,  poor  little  cousin!"  He  bent 
down  to  me.  "  Come,  Lena,  will  you  not  go  to  your 
room?" 

"No,  no,"  I  begged,  "I  should  die  with  fear  and 
anxiety." 

"  But  where  will  you  stay  till  the  end  is  known?"  he 
asked.  Then  he  took  me,  like  a  child,  by  the  hand: 
"  Have  the  carriage  punctually  at  8  o'clock  for  the  gen- 
tleman, Gottlieb,"  he  said,  "even  though — as  if  noth- 
ing had  happened.  I  shall  not  be  here  then,  you  under- 
stand? And  be  sure  to  be  prompt." 

"  It  is  best,  dear,  that  you  go  quietly  to  your  room;  I 


138  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

entreat  you  to  do  so,"  he  continued,  as  I  looked  up 
pleadingly  into  his  face.  It  seemed  to  me  unbearable  to 
be  alone.  "Go  to  bed  again;  Aunt  Edith  would  be 
worried  if  she  went  to  your  room  and  found  you  gone." 

I  obeyed,  and  he  stood  motionless  until  I  had  reached 
my  door,  then  he  turned  and  walked  away.  I  went  into 
the  room.  Still  in  the  morning  twilight,  I  shook  with  a 
nervous  chill.  I  could  seem  to  see  grin  out  of  each  fold 
of  the  curtains  a  white,  ghostly  face,  from  every  corner. 
I  expected  something  horrid  to  appear  every  moment. 

In  my  damp  clothes  I  threw  myself  on  the  bed  and 
buried  my  head  in  the  pillow.  So  I  lay — I  do  not  know 
how  long — outwardly  quiet,  but  straining  my  ears  to  hear 
— I  knew  not  what.  Outside  it  was  noisy;  the  gentlemen 
set  out  for  the  hunt,  shouting,  and  calling  their  dogs, 
and  then  it  was  still  again. 

Aunt  Edith  was  awake.  I  crept  under  the  covers. 
She  must  not  see  that  I  was  entirely  dressed;  but  she 
did  not  come  in.  I  heard  how  she  softly  talked  to  the 
cats,  and  then  with  Jette;  complained  of  herself,  for 
having  overslept,  and  not  having  been  up  to  see  that  her 
son  had  his  coffee. 

No!  Jette  had  not  made  any  coffee;  the  new  high- 
forester  must  have  breakfasted  with  the  other  gentlemen. 

I  sprang  up  and  hastily  took  off  my  damp  things,  and 
put  on  my  morning  dress  as  if  I  had  just  gotten  up. 
Hark!  Eager  talking  and  cries  in  the  corridor;  feet  run- 
ning along. 

"  Accident  at  the  hunt!"  called  someone.  "  An  accident 
at  the  hunt!"  was  repeated  before  my  door.  My  heart 
stood  still;  an  icy  chill  ran  through  my  veins. 

Aunt  Edith,  with  a  frightened  cry,  had  already  gone 
out,  and  I  followed  her  as  soon  as  I  could  control 
myself.  There,  below,  at  the  entrance  to  the  Abbess 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  139 

House  were  many  people;  the  servants  of  the  estate  and 
others  ran  past  me,  all  with  faces  expressing  fear  and 
consternation.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  I  pressed 
through  the  crowd. 

"  He  did  it  himself!  The  gun  went  off  itself!  Is  he 
dead?  No,  he  is  still  alive — no,  he  was  killed  on  the 
spot!"  Such  expressions  struck  my  ears. 

I  can  not  describe  that  hour.  I  only  know  I  found 
myself  in  the  room  from  which  yesterday  I  had  heard 
Gerhardt's  rebuking  voice  resound;  that  he  and  some 
other  gentlemen  were  speaking  together  in  a  low  voice; 
and  that  Aunt  Edith  went  about  attending  to  what  had 
to  be  done,  with  that  calm  bearing  that  a  noble  woman 
in  the  hour  of  great  calamity  can  force  herself  to  assume. 

With  whom  she  was  occupied  I  could  not  see.  The 
large  room  was  divided  in  the  middle  by  a  heavy,  green 
velvet  portiere.  One  half  was  lowered,  which~~concealed 
whoever  was  on  the  bed. 

I  did  not  dare  to  go  in,  nor  even  to  ask  which  of  the 
two  it  was.  The  door  flew  open  and  Ferra  burst  into 
the  room.  Her  wild  abandonment  to  grief  was  terri- 
fying. 

"Joachim!  Is  he  dead?  Joachim!  I  know  he  is. 
Now  I  have  lost  the  only  one  that  loved  me!  Now  I 
have  no  one  more  in  the  world!"  She  screamed  and 
threw  herself  on  the  floor.  As  Gerhardt  turned  and 
went  to  her,  she  was  like  a  mad  woman. 

"  Ferra,  compose  yourself,"  he  commanded,  trying  to 
raise  the  slender  figure.  "  I  am  still  with  you.  Have  I 
not  loved  you?  Be  calm;  do  not  disturb  him;  possibly 
it  is  his  last  hour." 

"  You?"  she  asked,  sitting  up  and  shaking  back  her 
half-loosened  hair  that  hung  down  on  the  white  morn- 
ing dress.  "  You?  Not  for  a  moment  were  you  ever 


140  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

to  me  what  Joachim  is,  and  never  can  be.  We  have 
never  understood  one  another."  And  with  her  hands 
before  her  face,  she  broke  out  into  passionate,  almost 
screaming  sobs. 

He  was  about  to  reply  to  her,  to  quiet  her,  when  he 
involuntarily  stepped  back;  I  concealed  myself,  terri- 
fied, in  the  folds  of  the  curtain.  Frau  von  Demphoff 
had  entered,  the  paleness  of  deep  agitation  on  the 
strong  face. 

At  the  same  moment  Aunt  Edith  came  from  behind 
the  portiere.  She  carried  linen  and  bandages  on  her 
arm,  and  was  upon  the  point  of  going  out.  Both  stopped 
and  stood  motionless  opposite  one  another.  A  painful 
silence  pervaded  the  room  for  a  moment.  Ferra's  sobs 
ceased,  and  she  looked  with  anxious  expectancy  on  the 
sisters-in-law,  who  had  been  enemies  for  so  many  years. 

"  Poor  Theresa!" 

Aunt  Edith  went  toward  her  with  outstretched  hands, 
her  voice  melting  with  emotion  and  pity.  Instead  of 
answering,  Frau  von  Demphoff  passed  her,  snatched 
back  the  curtain,  and,  pointing  to  the  waxen  white  face 
on  the  pillow,  she  said  so  loud  that  the  wounded  man 
visibly  shrank: 

"  Do  you  think  that  with  a  few  tears  and  smooth  words 
you  can  make  that  good  again?" 

Perplexed,  Aunt  Edith  looked  at  the  tall  woman, 
whose  strange,  glittering  eyes  looked  deep  into  her  own. 

"I  say  to  you,  do  not  touch  my  child!"  she  continued, 
her  voice  hoarse  with  pain  and  agony,  "  for  I  hate  you. 
You  have  taken  from  me  everything  in  life  that  I  clung 
to,  everything!  And  your  son,  that  I  loved  like  my  own, 
has  to-day  murdered  my  child!" 

"  Robert  has  done  it?"  shrieked  Aunt  Edith.  "  Robert! 
Gerhardt,  speak  to  me!  Am  I  dreaming?  Robert! 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  141 

Theresa,  I  can  not  believe  it;  poor  Theresa!  Why  should 
he  do  it?" 

The  poor  woman  sank  down  at  the  feet  of  her  sister- 
in-law,  and  clung  to  the  folds  of  her  dress. 

"  I  never  wronged  you  knowingly;  no,  no.  You  are 
mistaken." 

Heartrending  sounded  the  soft,  persuasive  voice 
through  the  still  room. 

"See,  Theresa,"  she  continued,  hastily,  " you  do  not 
know  how  Robert  has  loved  you — as  his  mother; 
truly,  truly  as  his  mother!  O,  how  often  have  I  been 
jealous  of  you;  how  often  have  I  wept  when  he  turned 
to  you!  O,  let  the  old  hate  be  forgotten  after  these 
many  years.  See — see  my  hair  has  grown  white  since  we 
have  seen  each  other;  there  lay  hard,  pitiless  years 
between;  let  it  be  enough!  Give  me  your  hand,  Theresa, 
it  was  not  my  Robert;  O,  no.  How  could  you  think  so?" 

"  Mother,  forbear,"  I  heard  Gerhardt  say,  softly; 
"Joachim  still  lives.  You  will  kill  her  with  such  words." 

I  could  hear  no  more.  As  I  closed  the  door  I  heard  a 
piercing  shriek. 

"  Robert!  Robert!" 

It  was  Aunt  Edith. 

As  if  pursued,  I  flew  down  the  corridor  to  our  room. 
Impetuously  I  burst  into  the  room.  It  seemed  to  me  if 
I  could  not  scream  out  I  should  die;  but  my  mouth  was 
dumb.  There,  in  the  middle  of  the  large  room,  stood 
Charlotte,  and  before  her  lay  Robert,  his  face  buried  in 
his  hands. 

Bright  sunshine  streamed  through  the  high  windows, 
and  enveloped  the  slender  girl's  figure  as  with  a  halo. 
Outside  the  woods  were  gorgeous  with  their  autumn 
tints;  here,  inside,  all  had  become  dark,  sorrowful  night. 

"Do  not  touch   me!"  cried    Charlotte,    in    a    shrill, 


142  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

strained  voice,  and  shrinking  back  as  Robert  caught  at 
her  dress.  "  Go,  go;  I  can — I  dare  not  look  at  you!" 

He  sprang  up,  and  walked  tottering  to  the  door; 
once  more  he  turned  to  her,  unspeakable  suffering  in 
his  eyes.  "Charlotte!"  sounded  imploringly  in  the  room. 

"Go!  "  she  repeated,  with  a  hopeless,  despairing  tone. 
The  door  closed,  and  Charlotte  sank  to  the  floor.  The 
next  moment  I  was  beside  her. 

"  Charlotte,  what  have  you  done? "  I  cried,  flinging 
my  arms  about  her.  "Call  him  back;  do  not  let  him 
leave  you  so;  say  one  kind  word  to  him  at  least." 

But  she  pushed  me  roughly  back,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  He  will  die — Joachim — and  I  am  his  sister!"  The 
last  words  rang  out  like  a  hoarse  cry  of  pain.  <(  His 
sister!"  she  murmured  again,  putting  her  hands  before 
her  white,  convulsed  face. 

And  when  it  was  evening,  a  solemn  stillness  reigned 
in  the  rooms  of  the  old  cloister — Joachim  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  funeral  was  over;  the  perfume  from  the  flowers 
and  orange  trees  that  stood  around  the  coffin  floated 
through  the  open  windows,  and  one  carriage  after 
another  drove  away  with  its  black-robed  occupants. 
They  were  mostly  the  neighbors  of  surrounding  estates, 
but  many  were  the  comrades  of  the  deceased, who  showed, 
however,  very  little  interest  in  the  sad  event.  Aunt  Edith 
sat  in  her  chair  at  the  writing-desk,  as  tearless  and 
benumbed  as  in  her  unhappiest  days.  She  and  Char- 
lotte had  not  seen  each  other.  Gerhardt  often  came 
to  us  in  this  dreadful  time,  but  Aunt  scarcely  gave  any 
answer  to  his  questions  of  kindly  interest.  She  touched 
neither  food  nor  drink;  it  was  a  lamentable  condition. 

I  knew  that  the  ladies  in  the  villa  had  been  present  at 
the  funeral  services,  but  I  had  remained  with  Aunt  Edith. 
Now  a  great  longing  possessed  me  to  see  Charlotte,  and 
there  Auntie  sat  with  closed  eyes,  and  in  spite  of  all  my 
attempts,  I  could  only  win  a  glance  from  her.  So  I  stole 
softly  out  of  the  room;  possibly  I  could  speak  a  few 
words  with  Charlotte;  I  had  not  seen  her  since  that  night. 

As  I  went  down  the  corridor,  on  my  way  to  the  Abbess 
House,  I  met  Ferra  leading  her  little  son  by  the  hand. 
She  was  in  deep  mourning — a  black  lace  veil  was 
thrown  over  the  beautiful  hair  that  gleamed  like  gold 
through  the  dark  meshes.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
ever  seen  mother  and  son  together.  The  charming  boy 
with  the  fair,  curly  head  tripped  gracefully  by  her  side, 

(143) 


144  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

in  his  white  dress  and  broad,  black  sash.  On  his  arm 
he  carried  a  wreath  of  late  roses  that  hung  their  pale 
gold  chalices,  rich  with  fragrance. 

I  went  to  Ferra  and  asked  after  Charlotte.  She  raised 
her  head  and  looked  at  me;  not  the  least  trace  of  a  tear 
had  reddened  the  beautiful  eyes.  There  was  on  her  face 
an  expression  which  contrasted  sharply  with  her  passion- 
ate bearing  the  day  of  Joachim's  death.  She  seemed 
entirely  consoled.  "  Charlotte  is  in  the  library,  or  in  the 
white  salon"  she  answered.  "  It  would  be  more  sensible 
if  she  would  control  herself  a  little  more.  It  has  not  been 
possible  to  speak  a  single  word  with  her.  She  will  not 
accompany  me  to  the  grave.  Try  what  you  can  do 
with  her.  Come,  my  sweet  darling,  we  will  carry  Uncle 
Joachim  some  flowers;"  she  nodded  to  me,  and  went 
on. 

"We  will  go  to  Uncle  Joachim,"  shouted  the  little 
one.  I  went  on  down  the  stairs  and  opened  the  high 
bronze  door  into  the  room  where  Joachim  died.  For 
the  first  time  I  noticed  to-day  the  arrangement  of  the 
room.  It  was  the  depth  of  the  old  Abbess  House, 
divided  through  the  center  by  green  velvet  portieres. 
The  front  room  was  the  library;  around  the  walls 
were  shelves  of  carved  oak  filled  with  countless  vol- 
umes. The  other  room  was  a  comfortable,  even  elegant, 
gentleman's  room,  the  furniture  of  which  was  in  the  style 
of  the  beginning  of  this  century,  with  bronze  decora- 
tions, inlaid  corners,  and  powerful  lion's  claws  that 
appeared  defiantly  to  resist  the  soft,  green  carpet. 

Over  the  large  writing-desk  hung  the  portrait  of  a 
lady;  it  showed  the  strong  features  of  Aunt  Theresa, 
not  softened,  though  the  bloom  of  youth  lay  upon  the 
regular  face;  delicate  white  skin  tinted  like  the  apple 
blossom;  glossy  brown  hair  around  the  pure,  oval  face; 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  145 

but  the  eyes  cold  and  gray,  and  the  lips  firmly  pressed 
together,  as  they  are  to-day.  I  looked  around  for  Char- 
lotte, but  could  not  find  her.  The  folding-doors  into  the 
next  room  stood  open;  I  went  in;  it  was  a  large  salon, 
the  room  in  which  the  body  had  lain.  Flowers  were 
still  scattered  over  the  floor,  and  many  candles  flamed 
out  from  groups  of  palms  and  evergreens,  in  the  middle 
of  which  had  stood  the  coffin.  From  the  ceiling  hung  a 
chandelier;  here  also  burned  candles,  which  flickered  their 
pale-yellow  light  up  to  the  ceiling,  richly  ornamented  in 
stucco.  The  white  walls  were  a  marvel  of  the  artist's 
skill;  dancing  nymphs,  mermaids,  and  bacchantes  in 
gauzy  drapery,  emerged  from  luxuriant  foliage  and  deli- 
cate arabesques,  almost  too  worldly  for  the  salon  of  a 
very  pious,  right- reverend  Abbess. 

In  the  alcove  of  the  window  stood,  as  immovable  as  a 
statue,  a  slender,  black  figure,  her  forehead  pressed 
against  the  pane — Charlotte.  I  walked  lightly  over  to 
her  and  put  my  arm  around  her.  As  I  met  her  gaze  I 
started — what  had  three  short  days  made  of  the  fresh, 
beautiful  girl's  face!  She  looked  ten  years  older;  her  com- 
plexion was  waxen,  her  lips  were  pale,  and  her  eyes 
lustreless.  She  sat  down  on  one  of  the  upholstered 
divans  which  stood  in  the  window  niche,  drew  me  down 
beside  her,  and  held  my  hand  in  her  own. 

"Mamma  is  with  Gerhardt  in  there,"  she  said,  softly, 
pointing  to  a  door  slightly  ajar,  "  helping  to  put  in  order 
Joachim's  affairs.  There  have  come  such  a  quantity  of 
letters — it  is  frightful;  there  he  lies  cold  and  white,  and 

the  survivors  must  know  all  that "  She  was  silent,  as  if 

she  already  had  said  too  much. 

"  Leave  those,  mamma,"  we   heard   Gerhardt's  deep 
voice.     "  Do  not  search  into  those  things;  it  is  best  not; 
leave  them  for  me  alone  to  care  for." 
10 


146  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"No,"  she  declared,  firmly;  "I  will  see  how  far  he — 
had  gone  with " 

"Mother,"  his  voice  sounded  very  tender,  "that is  for- 
given  and  forgotten;  let  us  now  think  of  the  good  qual- 
ities that  belonged  to  him — his  fresh,  buoyant  nature, 
his  adoration  for  his  mother " 

"I  will  not,"  she  replied,  "without  reading  his  words 
that  you  are  so  apprehensive  of  on  his  account.  What  his 
profligacy  has  left  to  me  of  my  own  fortune  is  at  your 
command.  Give  me  the  letters." 

"I  thank  you,"  answered  Gerhardt,  "but  it  would 
involve  too  large  an  amount  of  your  income;  it  is  more 
than  you  think." 

During  several  minutes  only  the  rattling  of  papers 
disturbed  the  silence;  then  a  short,  sharp  "What  is  that?" 
and  the  same  instant,  a  commanding  "  Give  me  back  the 
letter;  I  will  have  proof! — draft  with  forged " 

The  voice  broke  with  the  last  few  words;  a  long  pause 
ensued. 

"  Does  anyone  know,  Gerhardt,  does  anyone  know  of 
this?"  she  asked,  in  a  lifeless  tone. 

"  No  one,  dear  mother.  The  same  morning  that  I 
received  that  anonymous  letter — you  know  it  is  against 
my  principles  to  pay  any  attention  to  anonymous 
accusations,  but  in  this  were  particulars  which  unfortu- 
nately gave  me  no  doubt  of  the  truth  of  the  informa- 
tion— I  took  Joachim  in  here  and — but  let  us  leave  that, 
mother;  the  draft  is  already  in  my  hands." 

"  Do  you  know,  Gerhardt,"  she  cried  out,  bitterly,  "  do 
you  know  I  thank  God  on  my  knees  that  He  has  taken 
him?  and  yet  no  mother  is  so  wretched  as  I.  Almighty 
God,  I  thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast  not  permitted  the 
disgrace  to  be  known.  And  that  was  my  son,  whom  I 
loved  and  cared  for,  and  whom  I  was  so  proud  of!  I 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  147 

was  nearly  wild  with  grief  when "  The  words  died 

away  in  moaning  sobs. 

"  He  was  young,  mother,  spoiled;  he  was  unlucky — it 
came  so  easy  that " 

"  Never!"  she  cried,  in  loud  and  grief-stricken  tones. 
"  How  dare.a  man  forget  what  he  owed  to  himself  and 
to  the  honorable  name  of  his  parents?  He  became  a 
knave,  the  first  in  the  long  rank  of  his  ancestors;  he 
has  brought  shame  on  all;  he — O,  you  can  not  think, 
Gerhardt,"  she  continued,  low  and  rapidly,  "  what  anxiety 
I  have  had  about  him.  Do  you  think  I  have  passed  a 
peaceful  night  for  years,  because  of  the  worry  how  to 
satisfy  his  demands?  Do  you  think  I  have  a  stone  left 
in  my  jewel-casket?"  She  laughed  aloud.  "  Not  one! 
And  yet,  and  yet — what  was  the  cause  of  the  duel?"  she 
asked,  after  a  pause.  Gerhardt  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  Joachim  had  accused  Robert  of  being  the  writer  of 
the  anonymous  letter,"  he  said,  finally;  "  Robert  denied 
the  gross  accusation,  and  gave  his  word  of  honor  that  he 
was  not  the  writer,  whereupon  Joachim  shrugged  his 
shoulders;  what  followed  was  the  natural  result.  Robert 
called  him  a  pitiful  knave!" 

"And  Joachim  challenged  him?"  interrupted  his 
mother. 

"  Yes.  After  he  came  to  his  better  self,  Robert  tried, 
quite  against  his  principles,  to  settle  the  matter  amicably, 
but  in  vain.  Unfortunately,  I  did  not  know  of  the  affair 
until  too  late  to  interfere,  otherwise  I  should  have  sought 
to  hinder  the  duel  by  every  means  in  my  power.  At  the 
place  of  meeting,  Robert,  as  well  as  the  seconds,  made 
every  effort  to  bring  about  an  amicable  arrangement,  but 
Joachim's  conditions  were  such  that  there  was  no  choice 
left  to  Robert.  With  the  words,  '  Very  well,  I  did  all 
that  was  possible,'  Robert  agreed,  and  in  the  first  shot 


148  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

was  slightly  wounded  in  the  arm  by  Joachim,  while  he 
evidently  fired  over  his  adversary's  head.  The  second 
shot,  Joachim,  embittered  by  Robert's  forbearance,  fired 
without  waiting  for  the  word  of  command,  but  also 
without  hitting  Robert,  who  very  quietly  raised  his 
weapon  with  the  view  simply  to  maim  his  dangerous 
antagonist  and  make  him  harmless.  Robert  is  a  fine 
pistol  shot,  but  at  the  instant  of  the  discharge  Joachim 
stepped  to  one  side  and  sank,  fatally  wounded,  to  the 
ground." 

"  God  took  him  at  the  right  time,"  said  the  woman's 
voice,  cold  and  almost  cruel.  "  I  wish  to  know  now 
how  much  I  have  to  give  to  secure  him,  at  least  before 
the  world,  an  irreproachable  memory.  What  I  possess, 
Gerhardt,  is  at  your  disposal.  We  will  economize,  Ferra, 
Charlotte,  and  I.  This  evening  I  shall  expect  your  account." 

At  this  moment  she  suddenly  appeared  at  the  salon 
door,  erect  and  proud.  She  did  not  see  us;  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  spot  where  the  coffin  had  stood;  then  she 
came  over  and  put  out  the  candles,  one  by  one,  while  a 
bitter  smile  played  around  her  mouth. 

"Laurel,"  she  said,  ironically, "  there  is  nothing  true  in 
life;  it  is  all  a  lie." 

In  alarm,  I  concealed  myself  behind  the  curtain, 
while  Charlotte  remained  motionless;  only  her  eyes  fol- 
lowed her  mother's  movements.  On  a  chair  lay  the 
helmet  and  sabre  of  the  deceased.  The  black-robed 
figure  looked  with  gloomy  brow  on  the  emblems  of  honor 
that  had  lain  upon  the  coffin  of  the  officer;  then  suddenly 
the  tall  figure  reeled;  she  sank  on  her  knees  before  the 
chair  and  laid  her  arms  around  the  shining  helmet;  very 
lovingly  she  caressed  with  her  cheek  the  cold  steel,  and 
the  bitterest  weeping  sounded  through  the  still  room. 
He  was  doubly  dead  to  her. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  149 

Charlotte  drew  me  softly  and  hastily  away. 

"She  must  not  know  that  you  have  seen  her,  Lena." 

"Will you  not  come  to  Aunt  Edith?"  I  said,  timidly. 

"When  I  feel  strong  enough;  do  not  urge  me,"  she 
replied,  and  began  to  descend  the  stairs. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  cloister  garden?"  I  asked.  She 
nodded,  and  so  we  silently  walked  through  its  still  paths. 
But  ah,  what  a  change  since  we  were  there  last! 

Then  suddenly  Charlotte  stood  still  and  steadied  her- 
self against  a  shrub  almost  stripped  of  its  foliage  by 
the  autumn  frosts;  from  the  other  side  of  the  wall  a  fresh, 
boyish  voice  was  singing: 

"There  flew  away  a  falcon 

High  above  me  in  the  blue; 
Falcon,  seest  thou  my  lover? 
Say  to  him  I  will  be  true. 

"  Where  oaks  and  beeches  tower, 

There  scents  wild  roses'  breath ; 
But  should  I  lose  my  lover, 

I  should  grieve  myself  to  death." 

The  tears  for  the  first  time  gushed  from  her  eyes. 
"  Come!"  she  said,  '•  I  will  go  to  Aunt  Edith." 


CHAPTER  X. 

Weeks  passed,  and  November  made  Its  entrance  with  a 
beautiful  snow-storm,  and  the  great  flakes  whirled  mer- 
rily around  the  high  old  trees  in  the  park.  Through  the 
naked  branches  one  could  see  glimmer  the  white  walls  of 
the  villa;  and  behind  it  raised  themselves,  like  an  unchange- 
able gray  background,  the  mountains.  One  might  have 
thought  them  to-day  a  black  tempest  brewing  behind  the 
house. 

It  was  very  gloomy  in  the  old  cloister.  Aunt  Edith 
remained  benumbed  with  grief;  no  fond  words,  no 
caresses,  could  rouse  her  from  her  apathy.  I  clung  to 
her,  as  did  her  old  Minka,  who  really  seemed  to  be 
unhappy;  but  at  this  time  no  creature  had  power  to  touch 
her  poor,  sick  heart.  She  would  stroke  my  hair,  but  in 
an  indifferent  way.  True,  she  took  up  her  knitting  again. 
But  she  visited  neither  her  poor  nor  her  sick,  for  fear 
of  seeing  a  stranger;  and  so  it  came  about  that  I  went, 
through  wind  and  storm,  through  the  dirty  town,  into 
the  huts  of  the  poor,  and  gradually  accustomed  myself 
to  intercourse  with  them. 

Gottlieb  was  my  faithfuj  companion,  and  protected 
me  from  any  insolence.  It  was  long,  however,  before  I 
learned  to  judge  how  much  to  help,  and  when  help  was 
needed. 

Except  to  go  to  church,  Aunt  Edith  never  went  out. 

"  God  has  forgotten  me,"  she  said,  gloomily,  and 
stroked  back  with  her  hand  her  white  hair.  That  was  a 

(150) 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  151 

sad,  sad  time;  and  how  often  I  took  refuge  in  my  room, 
and  wept  from  worry  and  heartache! 

From  Gottlieb,  after  many  days,  I  first  learned  what 
had  happened  to  Robert;  and  a  terror  filled  me  when  he 
told  me  Robert  was  serving  sentence  in  the  jail. 

"O,  how  unjust,  Gottlieb!"!  cried.  "He  could  not 
help  what  happened;  he  did  not  intend  to  do  it." 

"No,  that  is  true;  but  that  made  no  difference," 
replied  the  old  man.  "  That  evening  after  Herr  Joachim 
died,  Herr  Berka  drove  to  town  with  Herr  von  Demphoff, 

and  gave  himself  up,  and But  I  do  not  know  how 

it  happened;  Herr  Berka  received  six  months'  imprison- 
ment." 

"  And  he  must  be  in  a  cold,  dark  dungeon,  without 
light,  and  only  bread  and  water!"  I  cried,  terrified. 

"It  is  not  so  bad  as  that,  little  one,"  said  Gottlieb, 
soothingly.  "  He  has  a  warm  room,  and  can  walk  when 
he  will,  and  eat  what  he  wishes.  Thank  God,  he  is  not 
in  the  penitentiary." 

"  Do  Aunt  Edith  and  Charlotte  know?" 

"  Frau  Berka  knows,  and  Fraulein  Charlotte,  I  think, 
also.  But  they  never  speak  of  it." 

Poor  Charlotte!  She  came  every  day  at  a  certain  hour 
through  the  park.  I  would  watch  at  the  window  with 
impatience  until  I  saw  her  slender,  black  figure  appear 
around  the  bend  in  the  road.  She  walked  as  though  she 
were  worn  out;  and  every  time  I  saw  her  it  seemed  as  if 
the  delicate  face  became  smaller  and  more  transparent. 
And  she  would  come  in  and  sit  herself  at  Auntie's  feet, 
and  talk  of  indifferent  things;  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  passionate  pain  quivered  about  the  pale  lips. 

Gerhardt  was  deeply  troubled  over  the  sad  change. 
He  divided  his  time  between  business  and  his  sister. 
Often  his  light  wagon  was  before  the  gate  to  take  us  for  a 


152  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

drive;  he  was  very  careful  to  avoid  the  road  on  which 
was  a  sign-post,  "  To  Folkerode  4  miles,"  for,  though 
he  did  not  know,  he  felt  that  Charlotte's  deep  mourning 
was  worn  more  for  a  sweet,  dead  happiness  than  for  her 
brother.  And  it  was  touching  to  see  the  large,  stately 
man  in  his  never-wearying  attention  to  the  pale,  beauti- 
ful girl  and  the  grief-stricken  woman  in  the  old 
cloister. 

"I  thank  you,  Cousin,"  he  said  to  me,  one  day;  "you 
are  so  kind  to  and  thoughtful  for  Charlotte;  you  do  not 
know  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  me  to  know  that." 

"  O,  but  I  can  do  nothing,"  I  said,  regretfully. 

"  You  do  much.  Do  you  think  I  have  no  eyes  for 
your  little  services?  How  you  bring  her  a  flower,  and  tell 
her  little  reminiscences  of  your  home;  anticipate  Aunt's 
every  wish,  and  prepare  for  her,  in  the  kitchen,  some 
special  dainty?" 

"  O,  that  is  all  quite  natural,"  said  I,  blushing  at  the 
warmth  of  his  words. 

"  Very  true,  little  Cousin,  but  it  pleases  me." 

Ferra  came  once  to  the  "  unfortunate,"  as  she  herself 
expressed  it,  to  say  some  words  of  sympathy.  She 
seemed  to  be  playing  a  new  role;  she  was  excessively 
subdued,  and  an  excessively  fond  mother.  Formerly 
she  used  to  complain  of  her  limited  means,  and  the  little 
she  could  do  for  her  boy;  but  now  she  talked  with  real 
enthusiasm  as  she  related  how  the  little  rogue  wanted  a 
horse  and  cow,  and  she  was  sure  he  was  made  for  a 
farmer.  And  when,  one  day,  Gerhardt  took  him  on  his 
lap  and  asked,  "What  will  the  boy  be?"  the  child's 
laughing  face  became  earnest,  and  he  said,  most  solemnly, 
"  Like  Uncle  Gerhardt."  Ferra  laughed  unnecessarily 
loud,  but  whether  from  embarrassment  or  joy  at  this 
answer,  it  was  hard  to  decide.  Gerhardt,  however,  sat 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  153 

the  child  down  on  the  floor,  and  a  strange  smile  played 
over  his  features. 

It  was  a  snowy  November  day  when  she  made  her  first 
visit  to  the  old  cloister. 

Charlotte  sat  at  Aunt  Edith's  feet,  and  Gerhardt  had 
been  trying  to  interest  her  in  some  Christmas  prepara- 
tions he  had  in  contemplation. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  turning  away  abruptly,  "  do  not  ask 
me,  Gerhardt;  I  wish  to  see  no  light  and  joy.  Lena 
will  help  you." 

I  had  placed  two  chairs  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
put  over  them  a  skein  of  yarn,  and,  child-fashion,  was 
winding  it  into  a  ball  by  walking  around  in  a  circle. 

"  I  will  help  you,  Cousin,"  said  Gerhardt;  and  the 
next  moment  he  sat  before  me  with  the  yarn  on  his  out- 
spread hands.  He  laughed  over  it;  and  into  Charlotte's 
pale  face  came  a  friendly  brightness,  while  I  stood  before 
him,  trying  bravely  to  do  good  work,  and  wind  my  ball 
loosely.  It  was  certainly  a  nicer  way  to  wind  it,  but  he 
was  unskillful  and  let  some  strands  slip  off  his  hands, 
and  that  made  a  snarl.  "  Now  possess  yourself  in  patience, 
Cousin,"  I  said,  and  bent  over  the  yarn;  the  ball  had  to 
be  put  through  times  without  number  and  still  the  thread 
remained  tied.  "  With  patience  and  time  the  mulberry 
leaf  will  be  a  satin  dress,"  said  Cousin  Gerhardt,  jokingly, 
as  he  saw  I  was  getting  nervous.  He  sat  there  so  com- 
fortable that  I  felt  the  blood  rushing  to  my  head. 
"  Christiana  says  patience  is  a  noble  plant,  but  does  not 
grow  in  all  gardens,"  I  said,  pulling  impatiently  on  the 
yarn. 

"  Then  it  must  be  planted,"  remarked  Gerhardt,  calmly. 
"  Not  so  strong,  or  you  will  break  the  thread." 

I  bent  down  lower,  half  ashamed,  else  I  should  have 
heard  Ferra  enter;  I  saw  her  first,  when  she  stood  close 


154  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

by  Gerhardt,  and  her  eyes  flew  in  surprise  and  annoy- 
ance from  him  to  me. 

"That  is  very  comfortable  and  charming,"  she  said, 
with  a  drawl,  "  an  idyll  d,  la  Voss.  Mamma  is  waiting, 
however,  impatiently  for  you  to  write  a  letter  to  her 
attorney  and  you " 

"  Have  already  done  so,"  he  completed,  "  and  mother 
has  sent  it  to  the  post  long  since." 

She  turned  her  back  to  him,  angrily,  and  addressed 
herself  to  Aunt  Edith. 

"  Dear  Aunt,  I  have  not  spoken  with  you  since  that 
unhappy  day,"  she  began,  and  laid  a  moment  her  slender, 
white  hand  on  the  old  lady's  arm,  who  was  knitting 
zealously.  She  stopped,  and  looked  questioningly  at 
the  beautiful  woman.  "  You  must  not  grieve  so  bitterly, 
dear  Aunt,"  she  continued.  "  Of  course,  it  is  very  sad ; 
we  all  are  still  quite  unnerved  by  the  blow,  and  Robert 
especially."  Aunt  Edith  had  quietly  laid  down  her 
knitting,  and  stood  up. 

"  I  know  already,  child,  I  know  already  what  you 
would  say,  but  spare  me,  I  can  not  speak  of  it."  And 
she  went  to  her  room  and  locked  the  door. 

"  Heavens!  Aunt  acts  exactly  as  if  her  son  lay  over 
there,  too,"  murmured  Ferra,  irritably.  "  It  is  horrible 
in  Wendhusen  these  days,  to  put  it  mildly.  No  one 
speaks  a  sensible  word.  Mamma  is  stiller  and  colder 
than —  it  is  perfectly  senseless  to  act  so,  as  if  the  Lord 
had  taken  from  us  everything,  everything  with  Joachim." 

During  this  speech  I  wound  the  last  of  the  yarn  from 
Gerhardt's  hands,  and  said  to  him,  pleasantly,  "  Thank 
you  ever  so  much." 

"  By  the  way,  Gerhardt,  I  am  glad  I  met  you,"  said 
Ferra,  rushing  up  to  him  and  clasping  her  hands  over 
his  arm.  "  Anna  said  to  me  to-day  you  had  notified  her. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  155 

I  had  to  laugh  aloud,  but  the  silly  thing  sits  and  weeps, 
and  protests  that  Herr  Gerhardt  had  said  to  her  she  was 
to  be  discharged  at  the  end  of  the  quarter.  Isn't  that  a 
ridiculous  misunderstanding?" 

"  Not  at  all,  Ferra,"  he  replied,  calmly.  "  You  found  it 
necessary  to  engage  a  governess  for  your  little  one  with- 
out consulting  me — the  nurse  did  not  please  you — not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  you  must  have  noticed  that 
mamma  had  begun  to  practice  strict  economy  in  her 
household;  and  you  are  not  in  ignorance  for  what  reason 
she  is  forced  to  do  so.  Charlotte  has  never  had  a  maid  for 
herself  alone.  Your  governess,  although  her  abilities  to 
teach  must  lie  completely  useless  here — for  the  boy  is 
still  too  small — draws  a  salary  that,  with  the  sinfully  high 
wages  this  Anna  receives,  counts  up  a  large  sum.  More- 
over, setting  aside  all  that,  Anna  must  leave  my  house, 
because  I  will  have  only  pleasant  and  obliging  people  in 
my  service." 

"Gerhardt!"  cried  out  Ferra,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
ominously  upon  him;  "do  you  not  know  that  this  person 
is  indispensable  to  me?  She  knows  me,  and  my  nervous 
condition;  I  can  not  do  without  her." 

"  I  regret  it,  Ferra,  but  I  can  not  retract  what  I  have 
said." 

"What  offense  has  she  committed?  To  whom  has 
she  been  disagreeable?  I  will  reprimand  her." 

"To  what  purpose?    She  can  not  remain,  Ferra." 

"  I  will  not  let  her  go!" 

Ferra's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  she  stamped  her 
foot  angrily  on  the  floor.  Gerhardt  rose  and  took  his 
gray  hat  from  the  table. 

"Gerhardt,  I  will  give  up  the  governess."  The  tears 
were  now  running  down  her  cheeks. 

"  That  is  not  necessary,  Ferra.    My  reasons  are  well 


156  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

founded.  In  justice,  she  should  have  been  discharged 
nearly  four  weeks  ago,  but  at  that  time  I  forgot  her 
offense  in  the  sad  days  that  followed.  Pray  say  no 
more;  it  will  do  no  good."  He  said  this  in  a  kind  but 
very  decided'way,  and,  after  a  few  pleasant  words  to  me, 
he  left  the  room. 

"  O,  it  is  maddening!"  cried  Ferra.  Then,  after  a 
moment's  silence,  "her  glance  rested  full  on  me,  and 
a  long-drawn-out  "  Ah!"  passed  her  lips. 

She  tapped  her  forehead  with  her  finger.  "  Heavens' 
what  a  fool  I  was!"  she  cried,  walked  two  or  three  times 
up  and  down  the  room,  and  then,  stopping  in  front  of 
Charlotte  and  me,  said,  with  the  most  melting  accents: 

"  Gerhardt  is  suffering;  I  should  not  have  contradicted 
him;  one  forgets  it  again  and  again,  when  one  sees  him 
apparently  so  large  and  strong.  Only  yesterday  Doctor 
Weber  said  his  lungs  were  in  a  very  bad  condition. 
Anna  may  go,  if  he  insists.  Poor  Gerhardt,  how  irri- 
tated he  was!" 

"  If  he  heard  you  now  he  might  possibly  be  irritated, 
Ferra,"  remarked  Charlotte.  "  I  thought  him  very  calm; 
you  were  the  one  who  was  irritated." 

"  True,  I  was  hasty,"  said  Ferra,  and  bent  her  beauti- 
ful head.  "  I  will  try  and  compensate  for  it,  and  will 
gladly  give  up  my  intended  journey  to  B — .  No  one 
knows  how  long  we  shall  have  him  with  us.  Joachim's 
death  has  cruelly  affected  him." 

"  You  can  take  your  journey  with  perfect  safety;  you 
will  find  him  well  and  sound  when  you  return.  I  do  not 
deny  that  at  present  he  is  not  in  his  best  condition." 

"And  you  can  say  that,  Charlotte!"  exclaimed  Ferra. 
."  I  think  we  have  seen  how  it  goes.  Who  could  have 
believed  that  poor  Joachim " 

She    put    her  handkerchief    to  her  eyes,    and   was 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  157 

silent.  Charlotte  did  not  reply.  She  hugged  Minka  up 
to  her  and  stroked  her,  and  as  she  saw  the  creature  still 
wore  the  red  ribbon  around  its  neck,  she  took  the  shears 
and  cut  it  off  and  threw  it  into  the  fire;  then  she  called 
the  others  and  took  off  their  ornaments  that  she  had 
put  on  so  full  of  laughter  and  happiness.  When  she 
had  finished,  she  stood  by  the  fire  and  looked  thought- 
fully into  the  red  glow;  then  she  said: 

"  Lena,  we  will  help  Gerhardt  with  his  Christmas  prep- 
arations, will  we  not?" 

"  Are  you  not  going  home?"  Ferra  asked,  looking  at 
me.  She  sat  now  in  the  big  easy-chair  by  the  fire.  I 
looked  at  her  in  bewilderment,  and  her  eyes  rested  on 
my  face  with  a  peculiar  expression. 

"  I  have  no  home,"  I  answered,  in  a  low  voice,  and 
my  eyes  filled  with  tears.  The  Christmas  before  the 
dear  mother  had  arranged  and  lighted  the  tree. 

"  But  the  pretty  little  boy  there,  how  rejoiced  he  would 
be!"  she  remarked. 

"  He  is  with  strangers  at  a  pension,  and — Cousin  Ger- 
hardt  " 

"But  your  guardian?" 

"  He  has  no  wife;  and  his  housekeeper  is  so  angry 
when  he  has  visitors.  No,  that  could  not  be;  but 
Cousin  Gerhardt  has  promised  me  that  George  may 
come  here " 

"  So  you  have  wound  him  about  your  finger,  I  see, 
you  little  flatterer!" 

She  bent  down  to  me,  and  ran  her  fingers  in  my 
hair. 

"Curls,  child,  are  exceedingly  unbecoming  to  you; 
why  do  you  not  put  your  hair  in  a  net,  or  in  braids?' — 
look,  so!" 

And  with  a  firm  hand  she  gathered  my  hair  together, 


158  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

and  braided  it  with  a  remarkably  deft  hand,  and  fastened 
the  two  thick  but  very  short  braids  on  the  back  of  my 
head. 

"There,  that  is  at  least  orderly,"  she  said,  praising 
her  work.  "  Do  you  know  how  you  looked,  little  one, 
when  you  first  came  with  the  tangled  curls?  Like  a 
roving  gypsy  girl.  I  must  say  I  was  ashamed  of  you. 
This  is  better,  much  better." 

I  ran  to  the  glass,  and  shrank  back.  She  had  drawn 
straight  back  from  my  forehead  the  little  curls  that  nat- 
urally framed  my  face.  Something  ugly  and  strange 
was  looking  at  me. 

"  O,  fie!"  I  exclaimed,  disgusted;  but  I  did  not  dare 
change  anything,  for  that  I  had  been  running  around 
looking  like  a  roving  gypsy  girl  made  me  blush  with 
shame. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  fie?  I  find,  unfortunately, 
that  they  do  not  trouble  themselves  enough  about  you 
in  such  matters,"  declared  Ferra.  "  I  think,  also,  you  are 
too  old  to  be  running  about  with  such  short  dresses;" one 
can  see  from  your  feet  to  your  ankles.  Shocking!  If 

you  at  least  had  elegant  boots,  but To-morrow  I 

will  lengthen  your  dress." 

"  That  is  not  necessary,  Ferra,"  Charlotte  broke  in, 
and  a  sarcastic  smile  played  around  her  pale  lips.  "  I 
am  expecting  a  package  every  day  from  my  shoemaker, 
and  in  it  will  be  something  for  Lena.  Let  the  dress, 
please,  remain  as  it  is;  her  two  new  winter  dresses  I  have 
expressly  ordered  to  be  made  as  short  as  that.  You  see, 
she  is  cared  for." 

For  a  moment,  Ferra  stood  literally  with  open  mouth. 
"  Who  is  so  astonishingly  liberal?"  she  asked. 

"What  a  question,  Ferra!  Who  but  Gerhardt?  You 
know " 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  159 

"  Ah,  that  accounts  for  the  reduction  of  expenses." 

"  But,  Ferra,"  cried  Charlotte,  indignantly,  "  I  think 
that  is  fully  understood.  Gerhardt  pledged  himself  to 
take  care  of  Lena  and  her  brother.  Pray  do  not  act  as 
if  you  knew  nothing  of  it." 

"  It  certainly  is  news  to  me.  Heavens!  how  many 
more  has  Wendhusen  got  to  harbor  and  support?" 

These  words  were  like  sharp  knives  through  my  heart. 
Never  in  my  whole  life  had  anyone  said  so  candidly  that 
I  was  a  superfluous,  useless  thing,  which  only  existed 
through  favor.  I  had  been  so  contented  with  Aunt 
Edith  until  now  that  every  evening  of  my  life  I  had 
folded  my  hands  and  thanked  God  for  all  the  love  and 
kindness  that  had  been  lavished  on  the  waif.  To-day — 
this  moment — for  the  first  time  I  remembered  the  words 
Christiana  had  said  to  George:  "  Only  out  of  favor  and 
pity." 

Charlotte  looked  indignantly  at  her  sister.  But 
whether  she  did  not  wish  to  call  out  any  further  expres- 
sion or  was  too  tired,  at  all  events  she  was  silent.  But 
the  hot  blood  rushed  rebellious  through  my  head. 

"  I  did  not  come  here  willingly!"  I  blurted  out.  "I 
had  ten  times  rather  have  stayed  in  B —  and  taken  a 
place  and  been  near  George.  But  I  was  not  allowed  to 
do  that.  I  was  brought  here.  I  also  know  why;  so  it 
could  not  be  said  a  Fraulein  von  Demphoff  was  a  nurse 
or  companion.  O,  if  I  could,  I  would  go  away  to-day, 
and  never  come  back!" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  what  a  temper!"  cried  Ferra. 
"  Do  you  not  remember,  Lottchen,  that  I  called  your 
attention,  the  first  evening,  to  that  obstinate  face?  Bah! 
my  child,  control  yourself.  It  does  not  affect  me,  and 
certainly  does  you  no  good  to  run  on  so.  I  think  you 
remain  here  very  willingly." 


160  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"Yes,  because  I  can  not  leave  Aunt  Edith  alone  now,'5 
I  retorted. 

Then  suddenly  the  thought  of  going  away  came  before 
me  as  something  not  to  be  endured. 

"  Now,  do  you  see?"  said  Ferra,  lightly,  "  always  ready 
to  fly  up  at  the  least  word.  Every  one  is  not  so  privi- 
leged as  you.  I  must  submit  with  all  possible  amiabil- 
ity and  gentleness,  and  discharge  a  person  who  is  almost 
indispensable  to  me.  I  will  give  you  some  well-meant 
advice.  Try  not  to  be  so  sensitive.  It  is  not  becoming 
in  you,  under  the  circumstances." 

She  stood  before  the  glass  as  she  spoke,  and  threw  her 
black  lace  veil  again  over  her  head,  and  the  young,  fresh 
face  looked  very  charming  from  under  it.  Then  she 
buttoned  up  her  dark,  fur-trimmed,  velvet  jacket,  picked 
up  her  long  train,  and,  pointing  out  to  the  snow-storm,  she 
asked,  somewhat  more  amiably: 

"Isn't  that  fine?  But  I  had  to  go  out  before  I 
announced  to  Anna  her  discharge.  What  do  you  think, 
Lotta?  I  am  going  to  get  her  a  situation  in  the  village. 
Then  Gerhardt  is  helped  as  well  as  I,  and  she  can  still 
have  charge  of  my  wardrobe." 

"  O,  Ferra,  it  is  quite  indifferent  to  me,"  said  Lotta, 
wearily. 

"Adieu,  adieu!"  called  the  beautiful  woman,  and  mur- 
mured, as  she  went  out,  something  about  "  insufferable 
weeping  willows." 

I  had  meanwhile  formed  a  resolution;  and  as  Aunt 
Edith  came  back  into  the  room  and  sat  with  Charlotte 
before  the  fire,  I  went  into  my  room  and  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Christiana,  and  when  it  was  finished  I  carried  it 
to  Gottlieb  to  post. 

Some  days  later  I  received  an  important  package,  and 
now  every  night  I  sat  at  the  little  table  before  my  bed 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  161 

and  drew  the  thread  through  my  work  until  the  clock 
struck  midnight.  The  beechwood  in  the  Dutch  tiled 
stove  snapped  and  crackled,  and  filled  the  large  room 
with  comfortable  warmth,  while  outside  the  snow  lay 
over  path  and  field,  and  the  north  wind  swept  down  from 
the  mountains  and  blew  whistling  and  cold  against  the 
window,  as  if  to  see  who  in  the  old  cloister  was  sitting  up  so 
late,  and  what  she  was  doing  by  lamplight.  Sometimes 
a  fear  would  possess  me,  when  the  thought  would  come 
that  I  was  the  only  one  awake  in  the  great,  ghostly  house, 
and  I  would  look  around  timidly,  thinking  one  of  the 
bronze  carved  doors  would  open,  and  a  slender  figure  in 
black  garments,  with  a  veil  over  her  head  and  a  wreath 
of  roses,  would  glide  over  the  parquet  and  look  at  me 
with  surprised  and  ghostly  eyes.  Sometimes  I  would 
think  of  Joachim,  and  believe  I  could  hear  his  angry 
voice  outside,  and  when  a  screech-owl  fluttered  against 
the  window  with  its  shrill  cry,  I  threw  away  my  work  and 
buried  my  head  in  the  pillow  on  the  bed,  scolding 
myself,  and  ye-t  trembling  with  unutterable  fear. 

However,  the  next  night  I  was  at  my  work,  and 
secretly  the  packages  passed  to  and  fro  between  Chris- 
tiana and  me,  and  as  the  Christmas  festivities  approached, 
I  held,  one  evening,  twelve  bright  thalers  in  my  hand, 
and  this  small  sum  gave  me  a  joy  that  no  amount  of 
gold  in  later  life  was  able  to  give.  Charlotte  came  every 
day  in  this  sad  Christmas  time,  no  matter  what  the  wind 
or  weather  was,  and,  after  a  walk  or  drive,  she  would 
come  and  cut  the  material  that  Gerhardt  so  liberally  sup- 
plied us  with,  and  we  would  make  it  into  garments,  small 
and  large.  She  did  all  this  very  faithfully  and  conscien- 
tiously. She  would  sit  for  hours  bending  over  her  work 
with  a  still  patience  that  contrasted  painfully  with  her 
once  buoyant,  active  temperament.  Three  or  four  times 
11 


162  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

I  would  have  to  speak  to  her,  sometimes,  before  I  could 
get  her  attention,  when  I  wished  some  directions  about 
the  work,  and  when  she  would  raise  her  eyes  she  would 
look  at  me  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  as  if  she  were  trying 
to  collect  herself,  and  imperceptibly  the  beautiful  fea- 
tures sharpened  and  the  slender  figure  drooped  under  its 
weight  of  sorrow.  She  did  not  complain;  she  did  not 
weep;  but  her  every  movement,  her  every  glance,  her 
languid  laugh,  said  more  than  words. 

I  saw  all  this  with  ever-increasing  anxiety.  I  saw 
Gerhardt's  look  of  apprehension  when  she  would  lean 
upon  his  arm,  showing  her  failing  strength,  and  his 
troubled  shake  of  the  head  when  he  would  sympathet- 
ically ask  her  if  she  felt  ill,  and  she  would  answer  list- 
lessly, "  No,  thank  you,  dear."  Yes,  I  knew  how  she  was 
suffering,  and  was  powerless  to  help.  I  dared  not  even 
allude  to  it,  for  the  day  Joachim  died  she  had  requested 
me  to  keep  silent.  She  did  not  wish  the  relationship 
which  had  existed  between  herself  and  Robert  to  be 
known. 

At  last  Aunt  Edith  became  observant,  and  from  the 
instant  she  recognized  how  frightfully  changed  her  favor- 
ite was,  it  seemed  to  put  new  life  into  her. 

She  began  to  talk  with  us  once  more.  She  sewed  with 
us,  and  questioned  Charlotte  more  than  was  necessary 
in  order  to  divert  her  thoughts  by  making  her  talk. 
And  Charlotte  answered,  because  she  was  so  glad  to  see 
Aunt  Edith  show  again  interest  and  sympathy  in  her 
surroundings.  And  so,  because  of  their  great  love,  they 
encouraged  one  another  to  hide  their  pain  deep  in  their 
breast. 

It  was  touching  to  see  how  the  young,  wounded  crea- 
ture, whose  flowers  of  hope  were  ruthlessly  crushed  in  a 
moment,  without  warning,  would  cling  to  the  old 


CLOISTER     WKNDHUSEN.  163 

woman;  how  lovingly  she  would  kiss  the  slender  hands 
and  smile  at  her  in  such  a  way  it  would  force  the  tears 
from  Aunt  Edith's  eyes.  They  forgot  themselves  in 
each  other.  Both  thought  of  a  lonely,  snow-covered 
huntsman's  house  in  the  deep  forest,  and  then  of  the 
dark,  narrow  fortress;  of  the  home  so  recently  earned 
and  now  deserted,  and  the  lost,  unspeakably  dear,  happi- 
ness. 

At  such  moments  Charlotte  would  press  her  hands 
against  her  breast,  and  her  eyes,  so  large  and  dark, 
would  look  into  space  with  an  expression  of  pain  and 
intensity  as  if  she  could  see,  through  the  walls  into  the 
far  distance,  the  solitary,  unhappy  man,  how  he  wandered 
about,  restless  and  rebellious  against  his  bitter  fate. 

"  He  is  thinking  of  us,"  she  would  say  sometimes, 
half  aloud;  "  I  can  feel  it,  I  know  it,  Auntie." 

She  was  right;  where  else  would  his  thoughts  flee  but 
to  them? 

Yes,  he  thought  of  them. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

One  day,  Charlotte  came  over  later  than  usual.  Aunt 
Demphoff  had  been  on  a  journey,  and  had  only  just 
returned  a  few  hours  before.  Charlotte  seemed  much 
disturbed,  and  there  were  two  red  spots  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Gerhardt  goes  directly  after  Christmas  to  the  South, 
by  the  physician's  orders,"  she  said,  after  a  little  while 
of  deep  silence,  while  she  hastily  felt  around  in  the  large 
work-basket,  without  taking  out  any  piece.  "  I  am  to  go 
with  him.  O,  my  God!  I  can  not  go  away  from  here;" 
and  she  broke  into  sobs,  and  cowered  down  at  Auntie's 
feet. 

"  There,  there,  my  darling;  go  with  him.  You  are 
young;  it  will  help  you  to  go  out  into  the  world,  the 
beautiful,  splendid  world." 

"  No,  I  can  not,  Aunt  Edith!"  she  almost  screamed. 
"  Do  you  think  that  I  forget  for  one  moment  that  I  have 
lost  Robert?  Do  you  not  believe  that  everything  of 
beauty  that  I  see  only  doubly  reminds  me  that  there  is 
no  more  happiness  for  me  on  earth?  Ah,  if  I  had  died 
long,  long  ago!  Now  I  must  live,  one  day  after  another, 
always  to — always  to — without " 

The  disjointed  words  died  on  her  lips. 

It  was  the  first  passionate  complaint  I  had  heard  from 
her  lips.  The  old  lady  seized  Charlotte's  hands,  but  she 
did  not  look  down  at  her.  Her  lips  were  pressed  closely 
together,  and  an  unutterably  bitter  expression  lay  on  the 
fine  face. 

(164) 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  165 

"If  I  could  help  you,  poor  child,  I  would  give  my 
heart's  blood,"  she  murmured,  finally.  "  I  would  live 
over  again  the  long  years  of  pain,  if  I  could  by  doing  so 
spare  you." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  life  is  a  pain,  when  I  know  how 
unspeakably  beautiful  it  can  be;  but  this  pain,  Auntie,  I 
can  not  endure  it  much  longer;  I  believe  an  end  must 
come  soon." 

The  old  lady  laughed  ironically. 

"  It  is  not  so  easy  to  die,  my  child.  Yes,  that  would  be 
a  blessing,  but  the  dear  God,  Whom  they  call  the  Just,  has 
not  been  so  good  to  me.  Look  at  me;  for  twenty-four 
years  I  have  wished  to  die;  there  were  days  when  I 
prayed,  each  one,  to  die.  But  my  life  went  on;  after 
each  day  came  the  night,  and  then  again  a  day,  until 

now No,  no,  my  child;  it  is  long  to  the  end,  and — 

you  are  still  young." 

She  was  much  agitated,  but  she  controlled  herself,  and 
laid  her  hand  on  Charlotte's  arm. 

"You  are  still  young,  Charlotte,"  she  repeated,  in  a 
changed,  gentler  tone,  "  and  I  am  old,  and  bitter.  You 
will  yet  live  to  see  a  thousand  happy  hours.  Misfortunes 
do  not  follow  every  one  as  they  have  me." 

"I  will  not  have  happiness!"  cried  Charlotte,  passion- 
ately, suddenly  springing  to  her  feet  and  drawing  her- 
self up  to  her  full  height,  with  her  head  thrown  back. 
The  eyes  looking  out  from  the  long  lashes  had  a  glint  of 
desperation  in  them.  Then  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  moaned:  "What  could  I  do  with  it  alone!" 

Aunt  Edith  sprang  up,  a  great  pity  on  the  old  face;  it 
was  as  if  the  last  words  of  the  girl  had  aroused  her  out 
of  her  own  grief,  showing  her  a  young,  cruelly  hurt 
being,  who,  without  encouragement,  without  loving  sup- 
port, must  lose  itself  in  despair. 


166  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"Charlotte!" 

She  drew  the  girl  to  her;  she  tried  to  comfort  her; 
she  knew  not  what  to  say;  but  I  saw  how  her  lips 
quivered,  and  how  her  trembling  hands  stroked  the  fair 
hair.  Involuntarily  she  reached  to  the  sewing-table  and 
took  up  the  New  Testament,  in  which  she  formerly  read 
each  day,  but  which  she  had  not  opened  since  that 
unhappy  hour.  When  I  saw  this  movement  my  heart 
grew  light.  It  had  seemed  so  dreadful  to  me  that  Aunt 
Edith's  deep,  God-fearing  nature  had  become  so  cold, 
so  defiant  to  all,  all  attempts  at  consolation. 

But  almost  instantly  she  drew  back  her  hand  from  the 
little  black  book  and  stretched  out  her  arms,  as  if  repell- 
ing something.  It  was  not  strange  that  she  thought  she 
saw  an  apparition,  for  there  in  the  door  stood — dark, 
gloomy,  phantom-like — Aunt  Demphoff ! 

What  did  she  want?    How  came  she  here? 

Charlotte,  who  had  been  startled  by  Aunt's  hasty 
movement,  gazed  into  the  rigid  features  of  her  mother; 
then  she  stepped  in  front  of  Aunt  Edith,  as  if  she  would 
draw  away  from  her  the  searching  glance  of  the  tall 
woman  who  came  with  unsteady  steps  toward  Charlotte 
and  offered  her  hand  to  Aunt  Edith. 

"  I  come  to  take  back  the  hard  words  I  spoke  to  you 
when  your  son  had  shot  mine,"  she  began,  in  her  cold, 
hard  voice,  without  further  preparation,  and  dropped 
again  the  hand  that  had  not  been  taken.  "  One  does 
not  weigh  one's  words  in  such  an  hour.  I  know  now 
that  your  son  was  forced  into  the  duel;  I  know  how  far 
it  was  from  his  intention  to  bring  this  grief  upon  me;  I 
know  that  it  was  only  an  unfortunate  accident,  and  there- 
fore  "  She  ceased,  and  drew  a  deep  breath;  "  and  there- 
fore," she  began  again,  "I  have  been  to  B —  and  prayed 
His  Majesty  for  Robert's  pardon.  Robert  is  already  on 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  167 

his  way  to  Fftlkerode,  or  will  leave  C —  to-morrow.  I 
hope  I  have  proved  to  you  that  I  realize  the  wrong  I  did 
you;  and  Edith — I — ask  your  forgiveness  for  my  hard 
words.  It  shall  not  be  said  that  I  am  unjust." 

Aunt  Edith  did  not  move. 

"  I  thank  you,  Theresa,"  she  said,  and  her  voice 
sounded  nearly  as  hard  as  the  one  that  had  been  speak- 
ing. "  It  is  pathetic  that  a  mother  should  pray  for  the 
pardon  of  the  murderer  of  her  son;  and  that  you  should 
come  to  tell  me,  is  a  conquering  of  yourself " 

"  That  you  did  not  expect,"  volunteered  Frau  von 
Demphoff,  and  her  lip  curled. 

"  Certainly  not,  Theresa,  for  it  is  twenty-three  years 
since  your  feet  have  crossed  this  threshold,  and  to  this 
day  I  do  not  know  what  I  did  to  you  that  you  should 
avoid  me  as  if  I  were  an  outcast.  Forgive  me  if  I  can 
not  thank  you  as  I  should  like,  but  the  words  will  not 
pass  my  lips.  Lately,  when  your  darling  boy  lay  there, 
pale  and  wounded,  all  the  long,  sorrow-laden  years 
seemed  to  have  vanished;  my  heart  was  soft  and  tender; 
I  was  able  to  give  love  and  forgiveness.  To-day  it  is 
not  so.  A  stone  fills  my  breast,  and — and  if  to-day, 
as  in  former  years,  you  alienated  the  heart  of  my  boy 
from  me,  I  should  not  heed  it,  for  I  have  no  longer  any 
feeling." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  old  lady  grew  as  she  said  these 
words,  she  was  so  imposing  as  she  stood  before  the  large 
figure  of  her  sister-in-law. 

"  How  glad  I  am,  Theresa,"  she  continued,  "  that  I 
can  say  this  to  you  to-day.  Long,  long,  have  I 
desired  to  do  so!  I  have  been  most  unhappy,  and  I 
hold  you  responsible  for  the  most  of  my  suffering.  You 
drove  me  from  my  father's  house,  and  in  the  night  and 
storm  I  left  it  like  one  dishonored.  You  have  made  my 


1G8  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

years  of  widowhood  intolerable  to  me.  You  influenced 
my  brother  to  turn  against  me.  You,  and  you  only " 

"  Aunt!  Aunt!"  cried  Charlotte,  and  seized  the  old  lady's 
outstretched  arm;  "mamma  did  not  mean  to  harm  you, 
dear  Aunt." 

Frau  von  Demphoff  never  moved  an  eyelash;  her  large, 
white  hand  lay  quietly  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  "  Go,  Char- 
lotte!" she  commanded.  Her  eyes  scanned  the  room,  and 
rested  on  me.  I  had  placed  myself  behind  the  curtain, 
terrified  at  what  was  passing.  "  Take  her  with  you,"  she 
said,  coldly,  pointing  to  me.  Mechanically  I  rose  and 
walked  past  the  large  woman,  who  followed  me  with  a 
dark,  piercing  glance,until  she  herself  closed  the  door  after 
Charlotte  and  me. 

Then  we  sat  in  Auntie's  sleeping-room,  and  scarcely 
dared  to  breathe.  Charlotte  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  high 
bronze  door  which  had  closed  behind  us.  At  first  we 
could  not  understand  what  was  being  said;  we  could  hear 
Aunt  Edith's  low  voice,  but  the  words  were  indistinct. 
Then  sounded  the  strong,  penetrating,  hard  tones  that 
filled  me  with  fear.  Charlotte  sprang  up  and  stepped  to 
the  door  as  if  she  would  enter,  but  her  hand  sank  to  her 
side,  and  paler  than  before  she  waited.  I  had  involun- 
tarily followed  her;  and  now  every  word  came  distinctly 
to  my  ears. 

"I  loved  him — how  much,  that  I  alone  know.  He 
passed  me  by  on  your  account.  Do  you  know  what 
jealousy  is?  You  cannot  know.  I,  however,  have  tasted 
it;  I  know  the  torture;  it  is  worse  than  madness.  I  never 
belonged  to  those  who  love  one  man,  and  forget  him 
for  the  next  who  offers  his  heart  and  hand,  and  then 
swear  an  oath  that  this  one,  and  only  this  one,  was  my  first 
and  only  love.  I  was  no  trifler.  What  I  once  seize,  that 
I  hold  fast.  Berka  gave  me  very  little  notice,  but  I 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  169 

loved  him,  and  the  less  he  cared  for  me,  the  more  my 
love  grew,  until  it  became  undying;  and  in  spite  of  that 
I  was  betrothed;  in  spite  of  that  I  married.  I  believed 
myself  strong  enough  to  do  it,  and  proud  enough.  No 
one  should  know  that  I  had  been  so  weak  as  to  give 
my  love  without  return.  I  schooled  myself — I  began  to 
forget — until  I  saw  you  with  him.  Then  that  unholy  pas- 
sion took  complete  possession  of  me,  and  it  never  left  me, 
not  even  after  his  death.  I  could  not  see  you,  Edith,  with- 
out losing  my  self-control.  I  do  not  know  who  was  the 
most  to  be  pitied,  I  or  you.  Yes,  you  turn  from  me. 
You  were  always  the  personification  of  all  virtues,  and 
you  can  not  understand  that  the  woman  who  possessed 
the  heart  of  the  best  and  noblest  of  men  was  untrue  to 
him  in  every  thought.  I  do  not  know  myself  how  it  hap- 
pened. I  wrestled  and  struggled  with  myself  in  the  un- 
ceasing contest.  I  prayed  God  might  help  me  to  con- 
quer the  unfortunate  passion,  or  else—  It  never  left  me; 
it  drove  me  even  to  take  his  child  to  my  heart,  and  feel 
and  show  toward  it  a  tenderness  my  own  children  never 
knew." 

It  had  become  very  still  in  that  room;  we  heard  only 
the  soft,  quick  ticking  of  the  little  clock  by  Auntie's  bed. 

I  looked  up  to  Charlotte  for  enlightenment.  Could  it  be 
possible  it  was  that  cold,  heartless  woman  speaking 
those  words — words  that  swept  over  one  like  a  hot, 
scorching  breath. 

"  I  would  have  peace,  Edith,  at  any  price,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  I  began  the  wrong  way.  I  would  not  see  you 
or  Robert,  and  became  hard  toward  all  mankind.  Every- 
thing was  exemplary  in  my  house,  but  cold,  so  cold,  I  was 
myself  frozen — I  chilled  my  husband  and  children.  Yet 
I  left  no  duty  unfulfilled,  had  they  loved  me.  I  feel  it 
now  to  be  just  that  Joachim  is  lost  to  me."  Again  she 


170  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

was  silent,  and  when  Aunt  Edith  spoke  we  knew  she  was 
weeping.  She  talked  a  long  time,  and  occasionally  was 
a  word  spoken  that  sounded  almost  entreating  and 
soft. 

" Because  I  detested  her  as  much  as  you,"  said 

Aunt  Demphoff,  again  speaking.  "  Before  they  came 
my  husband  had  never  complained  of  me — had  possibly 
not  known  that  it  could  be  different  between  us.  Then 
he  saw  his  brother's  young  happiness.  O,  how  I  hated 
their  absorption  in  one  another!  They  saw  only  each 
other.  What  one  thought,  the  other  thought.  And  it 
appeared  to  me  the  eyes  of  my  husband  were  directed 
oftener  than  necessary  on  the  happy,  young  wife,  and  that 
they  rested  reproachfully  on  me  afterward.  I  knew  he 
was  making  comparisons.  Never  had  there  been  such 
sunshine  in  our  house.  How  it  flooded  them  both! 

"  I  was  not  deceived  in  my  misgivings.  I  remember  as 
if  it  were  to-day  the  first  passionate  scene  between  us. 
I  was  gloomier  than  ever  and  of  course  formed  a  more 
marked  contrast  to  the  pretty,  elfish  creature.  It  was 
very  natural  that  he  should  at  first  reproach  me  play- 
fully for  my  coldness  and  reserve,  and,  as  in  jest,  to  hold 
up  this  careless  creature,  not  capable  of  a  serious 
thought,  as  an  example  to  imitate  of  a  wife  who  really 
understood  how  to  make  her  husband  happv. 

"How  that  mortified  me!  It  turned  every  Jrop  of  my 
blood  to  ice.  I  found  myself  and  my  faithfulness  to 
duty  humiliatingly  ignored.  I  felt  this  so  keenly  that  I 
said  to  myself,  I  will  never  change..  And,  as  with  vult- 
ure's claws,  a  fear  seized  me  that  I  should  lose  what 
alone  made  life  of  any  worth — the  love  of  my  husband! 
Possibly  I  saw  everything  distorted  at  that  time;  but  the 
art  and  manner  in  which  the  coquettish  creature  dis- 
played her  charms  before  his  earnest  eyes,  and  the  evi- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  171 

dent  enjoyment  he  received  from  her  raillery,  drove  me 
wild,  and  then — you  know  the  rest." 

Then  Charlotte  drew  me  almost  roughly  through  the 
open  door  into  my  room,  and  pushed  me  down  on  the 
old-fashioned  sofa.  I  did  not  know  at  that  time  why 
she  would  not  let  me  stay  where  I  was.  I  had  not 
understood  a  word  of  what  they  were  saying;  had  not 
known  that  the  frivolous  coquette  they  were  speaking  of 
meant  my  mother — my  mother  whom  I  revered  as  pos- 
sessing everything  on  this  earth  that  could  adorn  a  noble 
woman. 

When  I  had  time  for  thought,  the  short  sketch  of  that 
woman's  life  took  hold  of  me  with  great  power.  All 
this  suffering,  these  mistakes,  had  sprung  from  human 
love — this  love  that  I  had  placed  before  me  as  the  most 
wonderful  and  blessed  thing  in  all  human  life.  There 
sat  Charlotte;  what  had  it  done  for  her,  this  joyous 
maiden?  Would  she  not  have  been  a  thousand  times 
happier  if  she  had  never  loved  Robert?  And  those  two 
in  that  room?  I  turned  to  Charlotte  with  the  question 
that  sprang  to  my  lips: 

"  Charlotte,  would  you  not  rather  have  never  known 
Robert  Berka?" 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  me.  There  was  a 
flash  in  her  blue  eyes  that  recalled  the  old  Charlotte  of 
happy  days. 

"O,  child,  how  you  question!"  she  replied,  and  a 
lovely  color  spread  over  her  pale  face.  "  What  could  I 
be  without  that  remembrance?  I  never  should  have 
known  how  beautiful  life  can  be." 

That  seemed  to  me  very  illogical  from  Charlotte.  I 
wanted  to  retort,  "You  do  not  need  that  remembrance, 
for  if  you  had  it  not  you  could  not  be  unhappy."  But 
I  was  silent.  There  was  something  in  her  answer  that 


172  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

left  me  thoughtful;  and  so  we  sat  without  speaking, 
and  it  grew  dusk  in  the  room.  Then  Charlotte  got  up 
and  went  into  Auntie's  room;  and  when  I,  after  a  long 
time,  ventured  timidly  to  look  in  through  the  door,  I  saw 
Aunt  Edith  sitting  alone  before  the  sofa  table;  the  lamp 
was  burning,  and  threw  its  light  full  on  a  tear-wet  face, 
and  before  her  lay  the  little  black  book. 

"  Such  weeping  does  one  good,  Lena,"  she  said,  get- 
ting up;  "  but  the  eyes  burn  from  it,  and  do  not  see  well. 
Sit  here,  child,  and  read  to  me." 

She  showed  me  a  place  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 
It  was  Psalm  LXXVII,  and  I  began  to  read  aloud: 

"  I  cried  unto  God  with  my  voice,  and  He  gave  ear  unto  me. 

"In  the  day  of  my  trouble  I  sought  the  Lord;  my  sore  ran  in  the 
night  and  ceased  not;  my  soul  refused  to  be  comforted. 

"  I  call  to  remembrance  my  song  in  the  night;  I  communed  with 
mine  own  heart;  and  my  spirit  made  diligent  search. 

"  Will  the  Lord  cast  off  forever,  and  will  lie  be  favorable  no  more?" 

"  Stop,  Lena."     And  after  a  long  pause  she   asked: 
"  How  reads  the  fourteenth  verse?" 
I  read: 

"Thou  art  the  God  that  doeth  wonders.  Thou  hast  declared 
Thy  strength  among  the  people." 

"  Amen!"  she  interrupted.  "  Who  would  have  believed 
that  we  would  ever  come  together?"  she  began  again. 
"  Now,  after  all  these  years,  so  much  that  was  dark  is 
made  clear  between  us,  and  Robert  comes  back;  I  shall 
go  to  him — both  will  go — she  and  I." 

"Charlotte!"  I  cried,  hastily. 

"  No,"  she  replied;  "  Theresa  von  Demphoff.  It  is  as 
if  I  dreamed — Thou^art  the  God  that  doeth  wonders!" 

What  further  was  said  that  afternoon  between  the 
sisters-in-law,  so  long  at  enmity,  I  never  learned.  Out- 
ward things  remained  the  same  as  before.  Frau  von 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  173 

Demphoff  never  came  over  here;  Aunt  Edith  never 
visited  the  villa;  and  yet  there  was  a  change.  In  what 
did  it  really  lie?  Who  can  say?  Aunt  Edith  found 
again  her  even,  calm  manner,  that  was  so  sweet  and 
peaceful,  and  she  was  tireless  in  her  loving  care  for 
Charlotte,  and  sought  in  every  way  to  comfort  her. 

Ferra  came,  in  these  short  winter  days,  nearly  every 
day  to  the  old  cloister,  and,  with  self-renunciation, 
sewed  on  the  coarse  children's  shirts  we  were  making  for 
Christmas;  even  Gerhardt  recognized  her  efforts  with 
commendatory  words.  Gerhardt,  too,  came  daily,  and 
chatted  with  us;  and  they  were  the  dearest  hours  that 
one  could  imagine. 

How  heavenly  it  would  have  been  in  the  charming 
Christmas-time  but  for  sorrow's  dark  shadow!  Mean- 
while, preparations  were  being  made  for  Gerhardt's 
journey,  and  the  nearer  the  time  drew,  the  more  rebell- 
ious he  became. 

"  God  knows  what  I  am  to  do  with  myself  over  there," 
he  said,  fretfully,  one  day.  "I  am  perfectly  well;  a  mat- 
ter of  caution,  declares  our  old  physician — a  matter  of 
caution!  And  what  can  be  more  of  a  bore  than  travel- 
ing about  alone,  especially  when  one  is  fully  convinced, 
as  I  am,  that  it  is  spending  money  uselessly!" 

"Yet,  Gerhardt,  you  must  go!"  said  Charlotte,  sooth- 
ingly. "  This  is  the  last  time;  next  year  you  can 
remain  at  home  with  us." 

"  Surely,  with  us?"  said  Ferra.  "  Who  knows  where 
Lottchen  will  be  next  winter?" 

"  Here!"  said  Charlotte.     "  Where  should  I  be?" 

Ferra  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Possibly,"  she  said, 
shortly. 

And  the  Christmas  festival  grew  near — silent,  cold, 
and  sad;  only  for  me  was  there  any  joy,  and  for 


174  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

my  darling,  who  sprang  so  jubilant  from  the  snow- 
covered  sleigh.  A  pretty  fir-tree  was  already  lighted  in 
Auntie's  room.  There  had  grown  in  all  hearts  a  love 
for  my  beautiful  boy.  Gerhardt  came  over  toward  dusk 
to  see  the  tree,  but  more  to  see  the  delight  that  sparkled 
in  the  dark  eyes  of  the  happy  child. 

The  holidays  passed  like  a  dream,  and  before  I  knew 
it  George  was  gone  again.  In  his  little  pocket,  however, 
he  carried,  with  great  pride,  his  school-money,  that  I 
had  earned  sewing  and  crocheting.  Now,  Cousin  Ger- 
hardt could  be  spared  that  extra  expense. 

"  I  never  go  to  the  confectioner's,  Lena,  as  the  other 
boys,"  said  he,  in  his  pretty,  earnest  way,  "  and  I  write 
quite  small  in  my  diary,  so  I  save  paper;  and  I  do  not 
have  to  pay  on  the  coast-slide — Christiana's  uncle  lets 
me  slide  for  nothing." 

"You  are  a  dear  little  fellow,  George;  but  you  have 
your  pocket-money  for  your  good  reports,  and  you  can 
buy  your  cakes  on  Sunday  to  eat." 

"  No,  Lena,  I  am  going  to  save  it.  Don't  you  know 
what  I  am  going  to  be?  I  am  going  to  be  a  hunter  and 
be  in  the  woods  all  day,  so  I  must  have  a  coat  with  green 
capes,  and  high  boots;  I  have  already  told  Cousin  Ger- 
hardt." 

A  few  hours  later  I  heard  no  more  the  childish  prat- 
tle, and  on  the  old  cloister  lay  again  silence  and  sadness. 
I  longed  for  George,  and  dreaded  Gerhardt's  journey. 
It  seemed  to  me  everything  would  be  taken  from  me 
then. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

It  was  a  perfect  day  in  January.  I  sat  solitary  and 
alone  in  Auntie's  sitting-room,  and  was  feeling  more  sad 
than  ever.  Aunt  Edith  had  left  an  hour  before  to  visit 
her  son  at  FOlkerode;  but  alone,  not  with  Frau  von 
Demphoff,  as  had  been  planned.  Over  in  the  villa  vis- 
itors had  come  unexpectedly,  and  detained  the  ladies  at 
home;  so  Charlotte  could  not  come  to  me,  and  her 
mother  had  to  give  up  the  drive  she  was  to  have  taken 
with  Aunt  Edith,  which  she  intended  doing  without  the 
knowledge  of  her  children. 

And  so  Aunt  Edith  sat  alone  in  the  sleigh;  that 
lovely  place  by  her  side  was  empty.  My  glance  rested 
covetously  on  the  elegant  sleigh  and  its  appointments. 
Auntie  had  only  regretted  kindly  that  I  must  remain 
alone,  and  drove  away  behind  the  bells,  as  if  to  a  frolic. 
And  yet  the  mother's  heart  that  she  carried  to  her  boy 
was  sad. 

And  as  I  sat  alone  and  looked  out  into  the  glistening, 
white  park,  or  drew  my  needle  and  thread  musingly 
through  my  work,  there  came  to  me  so  many  strange  and 
sorrowful  ideas,  that  I  threw  away  my  work  and  wrapped 
myself  in  a  warm  shawl. 

I  would  go  out  in  the  fresh  air,  or  to  Gottlieb,  or  to 
Jette  in  the  kitchen — anything,  rather  than  stay  alone 
with  such  gloomy  thoughts,  such  torturing  questions  as 
"What  is  to  become  of  you  in  the  future?"  How  had  I 
come  to  meditate  on  this  for  the  first  time?  Who  can 

(175) 


176  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

say?  My  thoughts  were  unbidden  guests,  and  they  would 
not  be  turned  away.  When  Aunt  Edith  stood  before  me, 
ready  for  her  journey,  I  noticed  how  old  and  sick  her 
face  looked  under  the  dark-blue  hood,  and  just  such  a 
look  of  weariness  lay  around  my  mother's  mouth  in  her 
last  years.  Suppose  Aunt  Edith  should  die;  where 
should  I  go  then?  Over  to  the  villa?  It  would  be  dread- 
ful to  have  to  live  with  Ferra  and  Aunt  Theresa.  Stay 
here?  How  could  I  do  that  alone?  I  shuddered.  How 
long  would  it  be  before  George  was  grown  up? 

And  if  Gerhardt  should  marry?  A  cry  escaped  me. 
It  was  torture  to  put  that  thought  before  me.  I  did  not 
wish  to  think  of  anyone  near  him,  and  yet  it  would 
come,  and,  possibly,  before  long. 

A  firm  step  rang  down  the  corridor,  and  the  next 
moment  Gerhardt  stood  before  me.  The  blood  flew  to 
my  face  and  I  could  not  raise  my  eyes;  an  embarrass- 
ment hitherto  unknown  seized  me. 

"Ah,  Cousin,  I  see  you  know  already!"  he  said, 
between  joking  and  earnest.  "You  have  good  reason 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  so  now  sit  down." 

He  led  me  to  Auntie's  easy-chair  by  the  fire,  and  sat 
down  opposite  me. 

"  I  will  read  a  letter  to  you  which  has  filled  me  with 
the  greatest  astonishment." 

I  ventured,  shyly,  to  look  at  him,  but  his  face  was 
concealed  behind  the  large  sheet  of  paper. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  the  little  piece  of  writing  reached 
me  in  time,"  he  added,  before  beginning  to  read: 

"DEAR  COUSIN: — Enclosed  I  send  back  the  school-money  for  the 
new-year  term.  It  is  already  paid;  Lena  earned  it.  I  thank  you 
very  much  for  all  your  love  and  kindness;  but  Lena  says  you  must 
not  pay  everything  for  us,  you  have  already  done  enough.  I  began 
Latin  yesterday.  Adieu,  dear  Cousin.  Greet  Lena,  and  accept  the 
love  of  your  little  COUSIN  GEORGE," 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  177 

He  let  the  sheet  fall  and  looked  over  at  me.  There 
lay  something  in  his  blue  eyes  that  was  not  anger  nor  joy, 
something  that  made  my  heart  beat  and  that  made  me 
turn  away  from  him. 

"  You  are  a  foolish  child,  Lena,"  he  said,  softly;  "and, 
once  for  all,  I  will  tell  you  I  will  not  have  your  eyes  lose 
their  brightness  sewing  long  nights  on  fine  work.  I 
should  be  seriously  angry  with  Aunt  Edith  that  she  did 
not  watch  more  carefully  the  little  girl  with  the  good, 
grateful  heart,  did  I  not  know  that  all  her  thoughts  now 
are  with  her  unfortunate  son;  but  now,  Lena,  how  can 
I  go  away  with  a  quiet  mind  when  I  think  you  live  con- 
tinually in  the  foolish  idea  that  you  are  a  burden  to  me? 
It  will  end  in  my  not  taking  any  journey;  I  will  unpack 
the  trunks." 

"No,  O  no!"  I  cried,  frightened. 

"No?  Shall  I  go,  then?"  he  asked;  "but  will  you 
promise  me  not  to  accumulate  any  more  capital  by  night 
work?  Or  do  you  think  it  would  be  pleasant  to  me, 
when  I  am  roaming  about  somewhere  in  the  South,  to 

think  that  here  at  home "  He  broke  off  suddenly. 

"Will  you  promise  me  to  be  reasonable,  Lena?  Now, 
let  us  shake  hands  on  it,"  he  said,  encouragingly,  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  me,  and  as  I  gave  him  my  hand, 
embarrassed  and  hesitatingly,  he  held  it  close  in  his 
own. 

"  So;  and  now  I  have  still  a  request  to  make  of  you. 
I  do  not  go  away  with  a  light  heart,  Lena,  and  chiefly  on 
account  of  Charlotte.  She  gives  me  a  great  deal  of  anx- 
iety. Should  anything  happen  to  her,  should  she  be  ill, 
I  pray  you  to  inform  me  immediately.  I  have  written 
out  my  route  for  you,  accurately,  and  depend  upon  your 
goodness.  Unfortunately,  I  can  not  count  on  Ferra;  she 
is  not  observing,  and,  besides,  I  do  not  think  she  will 
12 


178  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

remain  here  during  the  winter.  Charlotte  would  never 
complain  to  mother,  and  Aunt  Edith  I  do  not  wish  to 
trouble — will  you  give  me  news  sometimes?" 

"Most  willingly,"  I  assured  him. 

"  I  thank  you  in  anticipation,  Cousin,  and  the  answer 
— shall  I  send  it  to  your  address?" 

"O  yes!"  I  cried,  enraptured;  "I  never  received  a 
letter  in  my  life,  except  from  George." 

Gerhardt  smiled,  then  drew  his  note-book  from  his 
pocket  and  took  out  a  leaf. 

"First,  little  Cousin,  Lucerne;  then  the  Italian  lakes; 
from  Milan  to  Florence;  and  finally,  Naples.  Have  you 
heard  anything  about  the  place  of  which  the  Italians 
say,  '  When  you  have  seen  Naples,  die?'  " 

"  Only  what  I  learned  in  geography,"  I  said,  feeling 
almost  mortified. 

"  I  wish  you  could  go  with  me,  Magdalena;  it  is 

delightful  there;  and  yet Do  you  know  the  little 

song,  '  Between  France  and  Bohemia?'  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"No?  Charlotte  sings  it  charmingly;  sometime, 
possibly  a  happy  hour  will  come  to  her,  then  ask  her  to 
sing  it  to  you — her  voice  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  this 
little  song." 

"  Charlotte  never  sings  any  more,"  I  cried  out,  but 
stopped;  dare  I  say  to  him  that  she  was  far  more 
unhappy  than  people  knew? 

"  Never  any  more?  Really,  Lena?  I  almost  feared 
it,"  said  Gerhardt.  "  Yet,  Charlotte — she  is  still  so 
young,  one  such  hurt  must  heal;  it  would  be  unnatural 
if  she  remained  always  in  this  melancholy  condition.  I 
hoped  much  from  a  journey  for  her,  but  she  will  not 
leave  Wendhusen,  and  one  does  not  feel  like  forcing  her 
now.  Time,  time  must  help." 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  179 

He  had  been  slowly  walking  up  and  down  the  room; 
now  he  stood  before  me. 

"  Has  Charlotte — I  think  you  are  confidential  with 
one  another — never  spoken  to  you  of  her  love?" 

"  No;  I  have  seen  them  together,  however,"  I  an- 
swered, courageously.  Why  should  he  not  know  it? 

"Whom,  Cousin?" 

"  Robert  and  Charlotte,  when  they  became  betrothed." 

"  Betrothed!"  he  cried,  astonished.  "  Had  it  gone  so 
far?  When  was  that,  Lena?" 

"  The  evening  before  the  duel." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  seemed  buried  in 
thought. 

"  The  poor,  poor  child!"  he  said  then,  in  a  tone  of 
deepest  sympathy.  "I  had  not  thought  it;  I  did  not 
believe  it  had  gone  so  far." 

"  Disaster  rules  over  the  women  of  our  house,"  he 
began  after  a  while,  and  pushed  his  thick,  fair  hair  back 
from  his  forehead.  "  All  sorts  of  romantic  stories  have 
come  down  to  us  out  of  the  time  long  past.  Elope- 
ments, fleeing  to  cloisters,  unhappy  marriages,  and  even 
suicide,  to  which  a  great-aunt  was  driven  when  her 
lover  fell  under  old  Fritz,  at  Hochkirch.  My  grandmother 
used  sometimes  to  relate  to  us  in  detail  the  tragic  tale; 
how  they  searched  for  her  a  dark  October  night  that  fol- 
lowed the  cruel  day,  and  finally  found  her,  shot  through 
the  head.  As  a  soldier's  child,  she  had  despised  to  take 
poison,  or  drown  herself,  and  had  taken  this  unusual 
means,  for  a  woman,  to  end  the  life  that  she  could  not 
endure  to  live  without  him.  And  so  it  has  been  down  to 
Aunt  Edith,  and  Ferra,  and  Charlotte.  It  is  strange  that 
no  blessing  rests  on  our  house.  The  life  of  my  parents 
was  cold,  and  devoid  of  love.  Ferra,  although  her  mar- 
ried life  was  short,  was  particularly  unhappy,  because 


180  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

she  loved  another,  whom  she  threw  over  out  of  caprice. 
And  the  poor  child  Charlotte  sees  the  blood  of  her  brother 
between  herself  and  her  happiness!  Truly,  one  might  well 
be  superstitious." 

He  began  again  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Lena,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  stopping  in  front  of  me, 
"  what  would  you  do  if  you  had  loved  some  one  with 
your  whole  heart,  and  he  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
have  shot  your  brother  George?" 

I  looked  at  him,  startled,  and  could  find  no  answer. 

"But  why  should  I  ask  you?"  he  said,  softly;  "you 
could  not  answer." 

"  O,  I  can  not  say  what  I  would  do,"  I  answered;  "  if  I 
— I  think,  however,  if  I  were  in  Charlotte's  place,  I  would 
goto  Robert  and  say:  'You  are  unhappy  enough,  you 
shall  not  be  made  still  more  so.  I  belong  to  you,  and 
whatever  the  world  may  say,  shall  not  influence  me.' "  I 
spoke  with  the  fullest  conviction,  and  could  not  conceive 
in  this  moment  why  Charlotte  had  not  done  so  long  ago. 

Gerhardt  now  stood  close  before  me.  "  Would  you  do 
that,  Cousin?" 

"Yes,  for  that  must  be  a  pitiable,  uncertain  love  that 
would  be  turned  aside  for  such  a  reason.  I  was  lately  in 
the  church,  and  saw  the  pastor  marry  a  young  couple, 
and  heard  the  solemn  service.  They  vowed  to  be  true 
to  each  other,  in  good  and  bad  days,  in  need,  in  death, 
through  all  fortunes.  And  is  not  the  vow  that  one  gives 
in  betrothal  just  as  solemn  as  before  the  altar?  Suppose 
Charlotte  and  Robert  had  been  already  married  when 
that  misfortune  happened;  would  she  have  left  his  house? 
Would  it  not  have  been  her  duty  to  have  stood  by  his 
side,  doubly  true?  No,  Cousin,  when  I  thought  of  him 
sitting  in  his  solitary  house,  alone  in  his  pain  and  grief,  I 
—I  do  not  know  whether  I  could  hold  out  to  leave  him 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  181 

without  comfort.  I  do  not  believe  I  could,  however.  O, 
if  I  dared  to  say  this  to  Charlotte,  if  I " 

I  stopped,  confused,  for  in  the  dusk  of  the  room  I  saw 
behind  Gerhardt  a  deathly-white  face. 

"Charlotte!"  I  cried,  frightened. 

Yes,  there  she  stood;  we  had  not  heard  her  enter.  She 
supported  herself  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  her  eyes 
almost  devoured  my  face. 

"  Magdalena,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  will  you  go 
with  me  to  Fftlkerode?" 

"  Charlotte,  do  you  mean  it?"  I  cried. 

She  advanced  nearer  to  Gerhardt,  with  a  flush  on  her 
sweet  face. 

"  Magdalena  is  right,"  she  said  to  him.  "  I  have  been 
faithless,  and  have  forgotten  my  duty.  When  he  came  to 
me  in  his  despair,  I  commanded  him  to  leave  me,  turned 
from  him,  instead  of  comforting  him  and  standing  by 
his  side,  as  the  one  should  have  done  who  only  a  few 
hours  before  had  promised  to  be  his  wife.  I  sent  him 
away,  because  I  fancied  the  blood  he  had  spilled  sepa- 
rated us  forever.  He  killed  my  brother,  yes;  but  was  he 
not  forced  to  do  so  in  self-defense?  Did  it  not  happen 
unintentionally  through  an  unforeseen  accident?  Robert 
stands  a  thousand  times  nearer  my  heart  than  Joachim 
— what  was  he  to  me  in  life?  Nothing.  He  wickedly 
played  with  a  human  life;  because  his  own  was  of  no 
worth  to  himself,  he  valued  no  other.  Not  a  single 
voice  in  my  heart  speaks  for  him;  all  my  thoughts  are 
for  him  who  is  as  my  life.  Magdalena  is  right.  Since 
that  hour  when  I  sent  him  from  me,  I  have  said  to 
myself  what  she  has  just  said  aloud,  and  have  wrestled 
with  myself.  I  would  not  listen  to  this  voice — and  why? 
Because  the  words,  '  He  has  killed  your  brother,'  never 
left  me.  Because  I  knew  the  world  would  throw  up  its 


182  CLOISTER    \VENDHUSEN. 

hands  and  cry  out  against  the  '  heartless  sister.'  But 
I  can  do  no  differently,  Gerhardt — I  can  do  no  differ- 
ently! Help  me,  brother,  I  entreat  you!" 

She  held  out  her  hands  to  him;  her  eyes  were  deter- 
mined, and  in  her  whole  bearing  was  an  unshaken  reso- 
lution. 

Gerhardt  took  her  hands. 

"  Charlotte,  have  you  thought  seriously  of  what  you 
desire  to  do?"  he  said,  soothingly.  "  I  am  not  alone  the 
one  to  decide  in  this  matter.  Would  you  not  painfully 
grieve  your  mother,  who  is  in  no  condition  to  listen  to 
reason?  Think!  She  was  bitterly  opposed  to  Robert; 
and  now — it  is  impossible,  Charlotte.  Calm  yourself, 
dear,"  he  said,  anxiously.  "  I  feel  it  is  good  and  right, 
what  you  say,  but  you  are  unnerved  now;  we  will  talk  it 
over  coolly  when — let  us  wait  a  while  before  deciding." 

"  My  mother?"  For  a  moment  a  triumphant  smile 
played  around  her  delicate  mouth.  "O,  Gerhardt,  if  I 
were  as  sure  of  everything  as  I  am  that  she  would 
approve  of  my  resolve!  You  do  not  know  her  as  I  do. 
But  if  she  opposed  me  with  her  whole  being,  I  .could 
not  do  otherwise.  I  can  know  m>  peace  until  I  have-- 
seen him.  And  wait,  Gerhardt?  Why  should..!?  No!" 
she  cried,  "no,  Gerhardt;  now  must  I  go  to  him.  ~  Do- 
you  think  I  would  be  so  frivolous  as  to  say  to  him:  '  I 
am  here;  you  have  your  bride  again?'  No,  between  our 
love's  happiness  lie  dark  and  heavy  clouds,  and  who  can 
tell  when  they  will  lighten?  I  have  not  thought  so  far 
as  that.  I  would  only  go  to  him  and  show  him  he  has 
not  lost  my  love.  I  will  only  give  him  a  word  of  com- 
fort, to  prove  to  him  that  I  possess  a  character  that 
clings  fast  to  that  that  it  believes  good  and  right.  This 
only  will  bring  peace  to  myself,  for  a  life  such  as  I  have 
led  these  last  weeks — O,  it  has  been  horrible!  Always  to 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  183. 

see  before  me  his  sad,  white  face,  when  I  said,  so  piti- 
less: 'We  must  separate,  Robert.  Go!'  How  could  I 
have  done  it?  Gerhardt,  only  the  once — I  beg  you," 
she  cried,  and  clung  to  his  arm.  He  was  silent,  and 
looked  down  on  her  earnestly.  "  Then  I  will  go  away 
with  you  to-morrow,  if  it  must  be;  only  let  me  see  him, 
Gerhardt.  You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  lose  a  happi- 
ness that  one  already  held  so  secure."  The  large  man 
took  the  slender  form  of  his  sister  very  tenderly  in  his 
arms. 

"When  would  you  go?" 

But  instead  of  an  answer  came  almost  a  shriek  from 
the  poor,  overtaxed  heart. 

"  Now,  now,  Gerhardt!"  rang  from  her  lips,  "  as  quick 
as  I  can."  He  went  to  the  table  and  brought  her  a  glass 
of  water;  then  he  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  A  quarter  to  5 ;  you  ca-n  be  there  at  9  o'clock.  It 
is  a  relief  to  me  to  know  Aunt  Edith  is  there.  But 
your  promise,  Charlotte — will  you  come  with  me?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  She  spoke  impatiently.  "Wherever  you 
will;  only  now  to  him — to  Folkerode." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  a  sleigh  stopped  before  the 
gate.  Gottlieb  sat  in  his  place,  and,  wrapped  in  thick 
furs  and  rofres,  Gerhardt  helped  us  in. 

"  A  safe  journey,"  he  said,  with  emotion.  "  Come 
back  again  to-night.  You  can  use  Aunt  Edith's  horses; 
they  will  be  rested  by  that  time." 

I  replied  to  him,  for  Charlotte  was  scarcely  able  to 
speak. 

"I  wish  I  could  go  with  you,"  he  said,  regretfully; 
"  but  unfortunately  it  is  impossible.  I  must  trust  you 
to  Gottlieb — bring  them  safely  back,  old  man." 

"Gerhardt!"  said  Charlotte,  and  bent  her  beautiful 
face  down  to  him,  "  I  thank  you!" 


184  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

Much  moved,    he    pressed  a  kiss    on  her  forehead. 

"Adieu,  Charlotte;  adieu,  Cousin." 

The  spirited  horses  started,  and  away  we  flew  into  the 
darkening  night. 

It  was  a  calm,  clear,  winter  night.  Before  us,  the 
level,  white  land;  at  our  side,  in  the  distance,  the 
snow-crowned  mountains.  In  the  west  still  lay  on  the 
horizon  the  pale  gold  of  the  sunset;  above  us,  the  stars 
began  to  come  out  one  by  one.  No  sound,  far  or 
near,  but  the  jingling  of  our  bells,  and  now  and  then 
the  cracking  of  the  whip.  Here  and  there  lay  a  town 
on  the  way.  We  saw  the  lighted  windows  under  the 
white  roofs,  and  occasionally  an  angry  dog  would  follow 
us  for  a  short  distance,  barking  furiously.  Then  we  left 
the  towns  behind  us,  and  finally  turned  into  the  lonely 
forest  road.  Who  has  not  seen  a  forest  in  its  winter 
robe  of  snow,  bathed  with  silvery  moonlight  till  it  glis- 
tens and  sparkles  as  if  strewn  with  millions  of  diamonds? 
It  is  fairy-land  that  one  can  see  in  our  Northern  lands, 
so  beautiful  it  can  not  be  described!  A  cry  of  ecstasy 
escaped  my  lips. 

"O,  Charlotte,  see  how  exquisite!"  I  cried;  but  she 
answered  absently;  only  Gottlieb  shared  my  enthusiasm; 
and  so  we  went,  silent,  farther  and  yet  farther  into  the 
snow-clad  forest.  It  seemed  an  endless  journey,  and 
gradually  the  cold  penetrated  through  furs  and 
mantle. 

"  How  long  before  we  shall  get  there?"  I  inquired, 
softly,  of  Gottlieb. 

"  A  half-hour,  Fraulein,"  he  replied;  and  then  Charlotte 
spoke. 

"  Are  we  already  in  the  FOlkerode  district?" she  asked. 
"  Yes,  we  entered  that  some  time  since,  Fraulein  Char- 
lotte." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSKN.  185 

With  an  "Ah!"  she  straightened  herself  up  from  her 
inclined  position. 

"  At  last!"  came  from  the  full  heart.  "  At  last,  Lena; 
how  good  it  is!  Ah,  night  after  night  have  I  dreamed  of 
driving  through  these  woods  to  him.  O,  what  blessed- 
ness that  it  is  not  a  dream  to-day;  that  I  have  freed 
myself  from  all  considerations,  that  would  smother  the 
noblest,  the  best  that  dwells  in  human  hearts — the  pure, 
true  love!  O,  Lena,  I  am  awakened  as  from  a  frightful 
nightmare." 

At  this  moment  the  sleigh  turned  into  a  by-road,  and 
at  the  end  of  this  road  two  bright  points  glimmered 
through  the  darkness. 

"  The  forest-house,  Fraulein  Charlotte,"  said  Gottlieb, 
reining  in  the  horses.  "  Shall  I  drive  to  it,  or  will  you 
get  out?  I  think  the  hounds  will  make  a  great  ado." 

"  No,  I  will  get  out  here,"  cried  Charlotte.  "  O,  I 
know  it  all  quite  well  enough  from  his  description." 

And  in  the  next  moment  she  had  flung  back  the  robe, 
and  with  a  spring  was  on  the  ground. 

"  I  will  drive  after  you  slowly,"  said  Gottlieb,  helping 
me  out. 

I  stepped  behind  Lotta  in  the  narrow  path  that  was 
trodden  in  the  snow,  and  the  two  bright  spots  grew 
larger,  and  the  dark  outlines  of  a  house  appeared  from 
the  background  of  whiteness.  It  was  an  imposing  build- 
ing that  lay  before  us  in  the  glimmering  moonlight.  It 
was  surrounded  by  giant  old  trees,  which  stretched  their 
bare  branches  protectingly  over  its  white,  gabled  roof. 
Broad,  massive  steps  led  up  to  the  door,  on  which  the 
snow-storm,  with  delicate  hand,  had  traced  all  the  outlines 
of  the  heavy  carving.  Over  the  door  was  the  true  sign 
of  a  hunter's  home — a  splendid  pair  of  antlers;  and 
behind,  all  the  grand  old  forest;  and  over  all,  the  brood- 


186  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

ing  silence  of  the  night — no  noise,  no  sound,  to  remind 
one  of  the  outside  world.  A  peace,  a  chaste  solitude 
that  was  almost  overpowering,  rested  upon  this  lonely 
hunter's  house.  Charlotte  stood  before  the  steps.  The 
hood  of  the  fur-lined  mantle  had  slipped  half  off  from 
the  fair  hair,  and  the  sweet  face  in  the  pale  moonlight 
looked  exquisitely  lovely  peering  out  from  the  dark  vel- 
vet wrap.  Her  glance  hung  with  unutterable  longing 
on  the  two  bright-lighted  windows;  she  folded  her  hands 
over  her  breast  and  stood  heedlessly  in  the  deep  snow. 

"There!  in  there!"  she  whispered,  "Aunt  Edith  and 
he and  he !" 

In  mute  haste,  as  if  every  moment  counted,  she  hurried 
up  the  steps.  The  mantle  slipped  from  her  shoulders 
and  lay  like  a  dark  shadow  on  the  white  ground;  but  she 
paid  no  attention  to  it.  Her  hand  raised  the  shining 
knocker  and  let  it  fall  hard  on  the  metal  plate.  In  the 
court,  the  dogs  began  to  bark.  With  beating  heart,  I 
leaned  against  the  iron  railing,  and  closed  my  eyes. 

Then  the  door  opened.  A  man's  voice  cried  out  in 
the  still  night: 

"  Charlotte!  Charlotte!" 

Never  shall  I  forget  that  tone,  that  deep,  passionate 
cry;  a  whole  world  of  sorrow  and  joy  lay  in  that  simple 
name.  Reddish  lamp-light  streamed  out  of  the  open 
door,  mingling  strangely  with  the  bluish  glitter  of  the 
moonlight.  On  the  threshold  stood  the  slender  figure 
of  the  young  girl;  she  had  bent  over  and  taken  in  both 
her  hands  the  head  of  the  man  who  had  sunk  down 
before  her;  and  "Charlotte!"  repeated  he;  yet  again, 
"  Charlotte!" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Wendhusen  was  now  very  lonely.  Gerhardt  and 
Charlotte  had  started  on  their  journey  to  the  South, 
and  Ferra,  with  her  child  and  its  nurse,  had  gone  to 
Berlin  to  enjoy  at  least  something  of  the  carnival. 
Theatres  and  concerts  were  in  keeping  with  mourning, 
she  thought,  and  here  the  solitude  was  too  trying  on 
one's  nerves.  Aunt  Edith  and  I  in  the  old  cloister,  and 
Frau  von  Demphoff  in  the  villa,  were  for  the  time  being 
the  only  inhabitants  of  the  great  rooms  at  Wendhusen; 
and  the  winter  storms  of  snow  and  sleet  beat  upon  the 
old  walls.  Uniformly  came  and  went  the  days,  and  each 
evening  I  rubbed  out  a  chalk-mark  on  my  chamber  door. 
Gottlieb  had  recommended  that  to  me  as  a  sure  means 
of  making  the  time  pass  faster.  The  old  man  himself, 
even,  had  made  lines  on  the  brown  wainscoting  of  the 
door. 

That  was  a  hard  day  for  me  when  Gerhardt  and  Lotta 
came  to  say  good-bye  to  us.  I  could  not  control  myself; 
I  cried  like  a  little  girl  as  Charlotte  pressed  kiss  after 
kiss  on  my  mouth. 

"  I  will  write  often,  Lena,  and  you  will  answer  me, 
won't  you?" 

I  nodded,  and  looked  in  her  beautiful  face.  We  had 
been  such  close  friends  since  that  evening  in  the  Folke- 
rode  forest-house.  When  we  drove  back,  late  in  the  night, 
to  Wendhusen,  she  had  kept  her  arm  around  me  and 
called  me  a  thousand  caressing  names,  and  poured  into 

(187) 


188  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

my  ear  warm,  grateful  words  of  thanks.  I  had  been 
the  first  to  speak  what  she  had  been  carrying  so  long  in 
her  heart. 

"And  are  you  at  peace  now,  Charlotte?"  I  had  then 
asked. 

"  O,  Lena,"  she  answered,  "  I  can  not  describe  to  you 
how  miserable  I  was,  and  how  different  it  is  now!  Do 
you  remember  once,  in  the  summer,  on  one  of  our  walks, 
how  we  were  overtaken  by  a  fearful  storm?  You  know 
how  the  trees  bent  and  swayed  till  it  seemed  as  if  they 
must  be  uprooted  in  the  tempest.  So  it  was  with  me. 
Just  so  my  heart  was  beaten  upon,  and  it  knew  not 
where  to  conceal  itself,  of  whom  to  seek  shelter  from 
the  wild  storms  of  thoughts  and  feelings.  And  then, 
after  a  while,  when  the  thunder  and  lightning  had 
ceased,  and  only  light  drops  fell  upon  us — though  still 
the  heavens  were  cloudy,  though  the  sun  did  not  appear, 
but  nevertheless  a  great  breath  of  relief  went  through 
all  nature — a  peaceful  rest — and  there  came  a  rent  in  the 
clouds  and  a  bit  of  the  blue  heavens  smiled  upon  us — 
so  it  is  with  me,  Lena;  my  sun  will  not  shine  upon  me 
for  many  a  long  day;  but  the  storm  has  passed,  the  calm 
has  come,  and  I  saw  a  little  piece  of  the  blue  sky. 
When  I  heard  him  call  my  name,  when  I  looked  in  the 
dear,  pale  face,  and  read  in  his  eyes  what  he  had  suffered 
in  the  time  of  our  separation,  when  I  felt  what  a  miracle 
could  be  wrought  by  a  few  little  words  spoken  in  love, 
I  found  my  peace,  Lena,  because  I  did  what  was  my 
duty." 

So  now  I  was  looking  in  her  moist  eyes. 

"  I  will  write  as  often  as  you  wish,  Lena — everything, 
everything  which  happens." 

Gerhardt's  good-bye  was  remarkable.  He  walked 
impatiently  up  and  down  the  room,  and  finally  he  said  to 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  189 

Charlotte,  and  his  voice  sounded  almost  angry,  "  That  is 
enough  of  kisses,  Sister." 

And  as  she  turned  around,  surprised,  he  came  up  to 
me  and  reached  out  his  hand  in  a  hurried  way,  with 
almost  a  frown  on  his  face. 

"  Fare  you  well,  Cousin." 

But  at  the  door  he  turned  around  again  and  stopped 
before  me,  taking  my  hand  again  in  his.  Charlotte  was 
already  outside,  and  Aunt  Edith  had  followed  her. 

"  Magdalena,"  he  said,  softly,  "  do  you  remember 
what  you  have  promised  me?" 

I  bowed  my  head  in  assent,  and  the  tears  flooded  my 
eyes  again. 

"You  must  not  weep,  little  Cousin;  what  are  a  few 
months  of  separation  from — Charlotte?  How  quickly 
they  will  pass;  and  then — it  is  no  distance  at  all;  one  can 
get  here  in  forty-eight  hours,  and  even  less  time;  you 
must  be  comforted  by  that.  Why,  it  is  scarcely  worth 
while  saying  good-bye.  I  think  in  these  present  days  one 
should  not  have  any  solemn  farewells.  Such  tearful 
parting  scenes  are  most  harrowing  to  me.  Now  dry  your 
eyes,  Lena,  and  smile  before  I  go,  else  I  shall  always  see 
you  before  me  thus." 

I  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  total  failure. 

"  Look  at  me,  Lena,"  he  said,  earnestly.  I  looked  up 
at  him,  but  he  looked  very  indistinct  through  the  thick 
tears  that  welled  up  in  my  eyes. 

"Adieu,  Lena,"  he  said,  again;  "and  when  I  come 
back  you  will  have  once  more  the  pretty  curls  instead  of 
the  ugly  braids,  will  you  not?" 

Then  I  had  to  laugh  that  he  should  regret  the  curls 
that  I  had  not  worn  for  a  long,  long  time  now. 

"  O,  Cousin!"  I  cried;  "  then  I  used  to  look  like  a  wild 
gypsy  girl." 


190  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  Even  for  that  reason,"  answered  he,  earnestly; 
"  but  who  told  you  so?" 

"  Ferra,"  I  replied,  still  laughing. 

"  So?  When  spring  is  here,  then  they  will  flutter 
again  about  the  little  head,  will  they  not?  I  have  noth- 
ing against  the  braids  now.  See,  I  have  accomplished 
what  I  was  trying  for — you  are  laughing;  but  now  I 
must  go,  before  it  becomes  serious  again." 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  fair  head  bent  down,  I 
felt  a  kiss  on  my  forehead,  so  soft  and  shy  as  scarcely  to 
be  noticed,  and  "  Farewell,  Magdalena,"  whispered  his 
voice  in  my  ear;  then,  without  turning  around,  he  went 
out  of  the  room. 

Amazed,  I  looked  after  him,  but  the  door  closed 
behind  him.  Then  I  flew  to  my  room  and  hid  my  glow- 
ing face  in  the  pillow  of  the  old  sofa. 

I  felt  as  if  heaven  and  earth  were  joined!  I  lived  in 
dreams  in  the  days  that  followed.  What  went  through 
my  young  heart  I  no  longer  remember  to-day,  but  it  was 
a  sweet,  blessed  time. 

For  hours  I  would  sit  in  the  window-seat  and  look 
out  into  the  park;  for  hours  in  the  twilight  I  would  sit 
by  the  high  chimney  and  watch  the  flickering  flames, 
while  I  lovingly  stroked  the  cat  on  my  lap.  In  the 
evening  lay  the  atlas  on  the  table,  and  my  finger  fol- 
lowed the  travelers  on  the  map,  while  my  fancy  painted 
the  Swiss  Alps  and  the  Italian  landscape. 

Aunt  Edith  gave  me  entire  freedom,  loving  and  sweet 
to  me  as  always,  and  spoiling  me  as  if  I  were  a  little 
princess.  She  was  so  unselfish,  the  tender,  sorely 
tried  woman;  and  since  that  evening  that  Charlotte  so 
unexpectedly  entered  Robert's  house,  had  come  back 
again  the  old  trust  and  thankfulness. 

"See,  child,"  she  said,  that  same  evening,  to  me;  "it 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  191 

must  have  ended  so,  else  both  would  have  gone  to  ruin. 
You  have  no  idea  in  what  a  desperate  condition  I  found 
Robert  only  two  hours  before.  Thank  God,  he  has 
again  found  courage  to  live  his  life."  And  in  her  grati- 
tude she  could  not  do  enough,  she  felt,  toward  caring  for 
and  helping  others.  Anyone  who  bore  a  sorrow  in  his 
heart,  found  comfort  in  her;  the  sick,  the  poor,  found 
help  and  counsel.  With  no  thought  for  herself,  she  gave 
her  life  for  others. 

Between  Aunt  Edith  and  Ferra  there  was  a  very 
uncomfortable  scene  before  the  departure  of  the  latter. 

At  first,  Ferra  had  intended  to  remain  at  Wendhusen, 
so  at  least  she  said,  when  she  came  over  to  the  cloister 
in  a  very  ill-natured  mood,  one  day.  She  felt  it  her 
duty  to  do  so,  as  she  had  promised  Gerhardt;  but  some 
one  else  must  be  present,  for  since  Joachim's  death  there 
was  no  having  a  reasonable  word  with  mamma. 

She  would  lock  herself  in  her  room  for  a  half  day  at  a 
time,  and  when  she  would  come  to  the  table  at  noon,  she 
had  neither  eyes  nor  ears  for  her — Ferra — nor  for  the 
sweet,  little  boy  that  was  so  cunning  now  with  his  childish 
prattle.  So,  as  she  had  received  a  very  urgent  invita- 
tion from  a  very  dear  friend,  which  she  really  could  not 
decline  graciously,  she  had  decided  to  leave  the  next 
day.  Gerhardt  would  approve  of  her  resolution,  she  felt 
assured.  She  should  write  him  as  soon  as  she  reached 
Berlin. 

"  There  will  be  nothing  else  for  him  to  do,"  laughed 
Aunt  Edith.  "  However,  I  believe  also  that  Gerhardt  will 
be  very  willing  for  you  to  have  a  little  change,  Ferra. 
Only  I  think,  if  Theresa — your  mother" —  she  corrected 
herself — "  is  suffering  so,  it  would  be  well  if  one  of  her 
children  remained  near  her,  in  case  she " 

"Should  be  ill!"   volunteered   Ferra.     "But,    Aunt, 


192  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

mamma  ill,  with  her  robust  health?  I  will  wager  with 
you,  as  high  as  you  will,  that  mamma  will  outlive  us  all — 
Gerhardt,  Charlotte,  and  me.  Joachim  was  the  only  one 
who  inherited  her  iron  constitution,  which  unfortunately 
wasn't  of  much  use  to  him.  The  idea  of  mamma  being 
ill!  She  who  has  no  idea  what  nerves  are,  she  never  had 
an  ache  in  her  finger!" 

"  As  you  think  best,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  quietly;  "you 
must  know  where  your  duty  lies." 

"Certainly,  I  know,"said  Ferra,  rapidly;  "my  duty  is  to 
myself  and  my  child.  My  nerves  are  completely  unstrung 
since  that  catastrophe  with  Joachim.  I  gave  up  my  trip 
that  I  planned  before  Christmas,  on  Gerhardt's  account; 
now  I  feel  I  can  not  let  it  go  any  longer.  I  must  consult 
a  physician." 

Aunt  Edith  looked  wonderingly  upon  the  young 
woman.  How  changed  she  was  in  a  short  time!  Where 
was  the  soft,  caressing  manner,  which  so  lately  had 
charmed  every  one? 

"I  must  further  confess,"  she  continued,  and  the  red 
of  indignation  colored  the  beautiful  face,  "  I  consider 
it  very  wrong  of  Gerhardt  to  go  to  Italy.  If  it  has  not 
been  necessary  for  him  to  go  before,  it  is  now  quite 
superfluous.  He  preaches  the  entire  day,  we  must  econ- 
omize! '  Economize'  has  become  our  watchword;  I  won- 
der he  has  not  had  it  put  over  the  entrance  to  the  villa 
as  a  device.  But  in  spite  of  all  that,  he  has  undertaken 
this  journey;  and  that  was  not  enough — no,  Lotta  must 
go  with  him;  Lotta  is  unhappy,  something  must  be  done 
for  her.  I  must  say  that  her  good  sense  would  have 
kept  her  at  home;  but  she  was  over-persuaded,  and  in 
spite  of  economy  she  had  to  go,  and  why?  Only  because 
she  looked  a  little  pale,  and  was  more  quiet  than  usual, 
for  which  I  thanked  God  daily.  Her  hoidenish  manners 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  193 

were  insupportable.  Gerhardt  had  no  thought  whether 
I  needed  recreation.  It  would  not  have  done  me  any 
harm  to  go  to  Italy." 

"  You  are  wrong,  Ferra,"  interrupted  Aunt  Edith  for 
the  first  time.  "  That  Gerhardt  has  taken  the  death  of 
his  brother,  and  the  circumstances  connected  with  it, 
very  hard,  every  one  can  see;  until  now,  no  one  spoke  with 
such  conviction  of  Gerhardt's  illness  as  yourself;  and  now 
that  he  has  been  persuaded  to  do  something  for  him- 
self, you  are  exciting  yourself  in  a  very  unnecessary 
way.  That,  moreover,  Charlotte  gave  us  cause  for  serious 
consideration,  you  can  hardly  deny." 

Ferra  laughed.  "  Dearest  Aunt,  you  will  not  take  any 
part  against  Gerhardt  or  Lotta;  that  would  be  unheard 
of,"  she  said,  vivaciously.  "  Please  do  not  believe,  how- 
ever, that  Ferra  von  Riedingen  does  not  remark  what 
goes  on  about  her!  I  know  very  well  what  is  the  matter 
with  Charlotte;  but  you  can  not  make  me  believe  that 
one  dies  of  love-sickness." 

Aunt  Edith's  paie  face  flushed  with  agitation. 

"Certainly  not,  Ferra."  She  spoke  excitedly,  and 
laid  her  work  on  the  table.  "  Because  your  superficial 
nature  has  no  conception  of  real  love." 

"  But,  Aunt  Edith,  I  beg!"  replied  Ferra,  more  aston- 
ished than  angry.  "Now  you  are  unjust.  That  one 
does  not  die  from  disappointed  love,  you  can  see  by  me." 

"  Do  not  explain  your  words  or  twist  around  what  you 
have  said,"  cried  Aunt,  commandingly,  so  that  Ferra, 
who  had  never  heard  such  a  tone  from  the  gentle  woman, 
was  silent. 

"  I  will  not  suffer  a  spiteful  word  to  be  said  against 
Charlotte,"  she  continued,  angrily,  "for  she  stands  a 
thousand  times  higher  than  you,  with  your  miserable 
egotism!  Believe,  that  the  old  woman  here  before  you 

13 


194  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

has  seen  through  your  actions  for  a  long  time.  I  know 
the  object  of  every  one  of  your  acts.  You  understand 
me — I  see  it  in  your  manner — and  so  it  is  unnecessary  to 
say  the  hard  words  to  your  face  that  I  have  for  you — 
only  these:  Your  work,  your  self-denial,  was  in  vain — 
that  you  can  rest  assured  of." 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean!"  stammered  Ferra, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  You  are  all  so  unkind  to  me, 
so  unfriendly,  and  I  do  no  harm  to  anyone." 

She  stepped  over  to  Aunt,  and  the  charming  face 
looked  very  entreating. 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is  you  find  to  complain  of  in  me?" 
she  begged.  "Ah!  it  is  quite  possible  I  am  a  little  self- 
ish sometimes;  Riedingen  quite  spoiled  me." 

Aunt  Edith  looked  at  her  without  a  word.  She  had 
evidently  expected  an  angry,  impatient  answer;  but  the 
eel-like  nature  twisted  and  turned,  and,  like  a  scolded, 
repentant  child,  it  lay,  as  it  were,  at  her  feet  praying  for 
forgiveness. 

"  See,  dearest  Auntie,  I  do  not  mean  any  harm,"  she 
continued,  caressingly,  "  when  I  say  Charlotte  will  not 
die  of  her  love  troubles.  Since  she  was  so  inconsider- 
ate as  to  conceive  an  affection  for  Robert,  there  would 
have  been  an  unavoidable  contest,  for  mamma  would 
never  have  consented  to  a  marriage;  so  God  has  inter- 
fered just  at  the  right  time,  before  the  love  became 
deep — while  it  was  yet  unspoken.  Now  she  must  and 
will  conquer  it.  See,  that  was  what  I  meant.  Pray  do 
not  be  angry  with  me;  it  makes  me  so  unhappy." 

"O,  Ferra!"  said  Aunt  Edith,  and  drew  away  her  hand 
from  the  young  woman,  who  was  about  to  carry  it  to  her 
lips;  "  I  could  weep  over  you."  And,  picking  up  a  bunch 
of  keys,  she  went  with  energetic  step  out  of  the  room. 

Ferra  looked  after  her;  she  had  a  handkerchief  in  her 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  195 

hand,  and  scarcely  had  the  door  closed  behind  the  old 
lady  before  she  threw  herself  into  the  nearest  chair,  and, 
pressing  her  handkerchief  before  her  face,  began  to  weep 
bitterly.  "  Dear  Magdalena,"  she  said,  after  a  while, 
straightening  herself  up  and  looking  up  at  me  with  wet 
eyes,  "you  do  not  know  how  unhappy  I  feel;  no  one 
understands  me  here.  I  am  a  stranger  among  my  own, 
and  where  I  think  to  find  sympathy  and  forbearance, 
there  is  only  mistrust." 

I  was  embarrassed,  and  could  find  no  answer.  The 
elegant,  beautiful  woman,  even  in  her  tears,  did  not 
seem  to  be  in  need  of  sympathy.  Some  way,  something 
was  lacking  in  her  grief;  what  it  was,  at  that  moment  I 
could  not  tell;  later  I  knew — it  was  truth. 

"  When  I  was  your  age,"  she  continued,  "  I  lived 
through  a  great  disillusion,  and  when,  a  few  years  later, 
I  believed  I  had  conquered  myself,  and,  full  of  con- 
fidence, gave  Riedingen  my  hand,  then " 

And  then  followed  a  description  of  her  unfortunate 
life  that  drove  the  hot  blood  to  my  cheeks.  It  was  the 
picture  of  a  modern  marriage,  in  which  the  man,  a 
notorious  debauchee,  insulted  and  disgraced  the  poor, 
sincerely  loving  wife  in  every  conceivable  manner. 

"  I  was  at  that  time  tempted  to  make  an  end  of  my 
life,"  she  concluded. 

"  But  you  had  your  child,  your  little  child,"  I  cried, 
wanting  to  say  something  to  her. 

"  Yes,  my  sweet  darling;  but  he  was  so  little  I  could 
not  complain  to  him  of  my  pain  and  misery.  O,  Lena, 
consider  well,"  she  continued,  playing  nervously  with 
the  jet  beads  of  her  necklace,  "before  you  give  hearing 
to  a  wooer.  I  should  have  been  a  thousand  times  happier 
if  I  had  never  married!  One  loves,  one  becomes  a  slave, 
one  bears  all  humors  with  inexhaustible  patience,  and 


196  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

earns  only  ingratitude.  Everything  that  one  as  a  girl 
beautifully  dreamed  and  hoped,  goes  under  in  the  revolt- 
ing selfishness  of  our  lords  and  masters.  And  men  are 
all  alike,  all;  I  despise  the  whole  sex." 

"  That  is  not  true,  Ferra,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  coolly, 
who  had  heard  the  last  words  as  she  entered;  "  God  be 
thanked  that  there  are  exceptions.  I  pray  you,  do  not 
share  your  experiences  with  that  young  thing  there. 
She  will  form  an  entirely  wrong  impression  from  such 
circumstances." 

"All  men  are  egotists,"  repeated  Ferra,  with  gentle 
insistence,  only  her  eyes  flashed  as  they  rested  upon  Aunt 
Edith.  "My  husband  was,  so  was  yours;  all  are, on  this 
round  globe;  and  Gerhardt,  your  much-admired  Ger- 
hardt,  is  one  of  the  most  prominent  of  the  species. 
Forgive  me,  dear  Aunt,  that  I  speak  this  truth  aloud  to 
those  innocent  ears;  but  she  can  not  be  kept  forever  in 
ignorance.  I  deplore,  however,  that  I  continually  excite 
your  condemnation  to-day,  dear  Aunt.  I  pray  you  to 
forgive  me,  and  forgive  me  also  that  in  spite  of  your 
disapproval  I  shall  go  to  Berlin;  when  I  come  back  it  is 
to  be  hoped  my  nerves  will  not  be  so  irritable." 

She  took  her  cloak,  and,  bending  over  Aunt  Edith's 
hand,  made  her  adieu,  giving  me  a  cool,  friendly  nod, 
and  left  the  room. 

"Ferra  is  a  deplorable  character.  She  has  never 
understood  how  to  be  satisfied  with  what  she  possessed. 
Discontentment  makes  life  a  torment,  and  drives  one  to 
commit  follies,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  when  we  were  left  alone. 

She  took  up  her  knitting-work  again,  opened  a 
romance  of  Walter  Scott,  and  buried  herself,  without 
wasting  further  words,  in  "  The  Antiquary."  She  evi- 
dently wished  to  show  me  how  little  attention  she  paid 
to  Ferra's  reasoning. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Ferra  had  been  gone  already  nearly  four  weeks,  and 
February  was  approaching  its  end.  Aunt  had  visited 
Robert  twice,  but  he  had  not  been  here;  it  was  not  pos- 
sible, at  present.  He  had  said  to  Charlotte,  that  night,  he 
never  wished  to  see  Wendhusen  again,  and  he  could  not 
endure  the  thought  of  it.  The  last  time  when  Aunt 
Edith  was  to  drive  to  FOlkerode,  and  Gerhardt's  team 
stood  before  the  gate — for  Gottlieb's  old  cloister  horse 
was  no  longer  equal  to  the  long  way — and  I  was  running 
behind  her  with  the  foot-muff  and  covers  to  tuck  around 
her  to  protect  her  from  the  windy  weather,  I  saw  her 
stop  and  step  back  as  she  raised  her  foot  to  get  into  the 
carriage.  There  on  the  silver-gray  silken  cushions  sat 
Frau  von  Demphoff,  and  she  stretched  her  hands  out  to 
her  sister-in-law  to  help  her  in. 

"  I  am  going  with  you  to-day,  Edith,"  she  said,  quietly; 
"  or  shall  I  trouble  you?" 

Aunt  did  not  answer,  but  stared  into  the  pale  face  of 
the  woman  who  had  frightfully  changed  within  a  few 
weeks.  There  were  blue  circles  around  the  deep-set 
gray  eyes,  and  the  lines  of  the  face  had  become  sharp, 
as  of  a  woman  past  seventy. 

"Theresa,  you  are  ill,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  softly; 
"  ought  you  to  go?" 

"  Yes,"  came  back,  quickly,  the  response;  "  it  is  on  that 
account  I  wish  to  go.  Who  knows  if  I  shall  ever  be 
anything  else.  You  are  right,  I  am  ill;  but  it  is  nothing 
new — I  have  been  so  for  a  long  time." 

(197) 


198  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

As  Aunt  sat  down  beside  her,  I  leaned  into  the  car- 
riage to  wrap  the  carriage-robe  around  their  feet;  and  as 
I  did  so,  I  offered  to  Frau  von  Demphoff  a  shy  good- 
day.  I  always  felt  timid  before  her.  She  did  not  reply 
to  me,  but  she  bent  down  and  looked  in  my  face.  It  was 
a  strange,  deep  glance — a  glance  that  went  through  my 
eyes  to  my  soul.  Her  lips  moved  lightly,  but  no  word 
came,  only  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  cold  stare  in  her 
eyes  gradually  faded  away,  and  mild,  friendly  beams 
took  its  place. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment;  then  she  settled  herself 
back  in  the  seat,  and  the  carriage  rolled  away.  In  the 
bend  of  the  road,  Aunt  Edith  looked  back  and  nodded  to 
me.  When  she  came  home,  late  in  the  evening,  she  took 
me  tenderly  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  me  again  and  again. 

"Robert  sent  greetings  to  you,"  she  said;  "and  the 
beeches  have  buds — it  is  spring  in  the  forest." 

"  O,  spring!" 

In  the  spring  they  will  come  back  again  from  -the  far 
country  where  it  is  always  green,  and  the  flowers  ever 
bloom.  Charlotte  writes  that  one  in  Germany  can  not 
know  how  wonderful  it  all  is  there,  and  yet  she  had  a 
continual  longing.  What  is  all  the  brilliant  coloring  of 
the  South  in  comparison  with  a  German  beech  woods! 
The  whole  marvelous  glory  of  bloom  vanished  at  the 
thought  of  the  cool,  dark  forest  at  home. 

Ah,  I  knew  it  well;  her  whole  heart  was  in  the  forest 
— right  in  the  middle  of  the  forest. 

She  wrote  often,  as  she  promised  to  do;  and  there  was 
always  a  greeting  from  Gerhardt  in  the  letter,  but  never 
a  line  from  his  hand.  What  had  he  to  write?  Charlotte 
was  there  with  him;  he  did  not  need  to  ask  how  she 
was.  I  was  almost  angry;  I  had  childishly  rejoiced  and 
Counted  on  his  letters. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  199 

The  chalk-marks  on  my  door  grew  less  and  less;  now 
there  were  only  forty — forty  long  days  before  they  would 
come  home. 

Outside  raged  the  spring  storms  over  the  mountains, 
bringing  a  sharp,  invigorating  breath. 

The  March  sun  burnt  hot  on  the  sandstone  steps  of 
the  old  cloister  threshold,  and  peeped  through  the  white 
curtains.  It  was  bright  in  the  great,  comfortable  room, 
and  Auntie's  windows  were  filled  with  delicate-tinted 
hyacinths. 

In  the  Abbess  House,  however,  the  windows  were  all 
wide  open ;  the  pure,  crisp  spring  air  blew  through  the  cold, 
damp  rooms  that  had  been  closed  through  the  winter; 
and  one  could  see  Gottlieb's  old  face  look  out  now  and 
then  from  the  stone  window-frames. 

With  childish  joy,  I  observed  every  sign  of  the  coming 
spring;  and  as  I  waited  I  was  filled  with  feverish  unrest, 
and  wandered  about,  sometimes  in  the  garden,  sometimes 
in  the  park,  and  then  through  the  house,  following  after 
Gottlieb  much  more  than  he  wished,  as  he  was  at  work 
in  the  Abbess  House,  running  from  room  to  room, 
asking  about  everything,  and,  wherever  possible,  making 
him  tell  me  some  interesting  tale. 

"  How  could  one  go  out  of  such  a  grand  old  house  to 
live  in  a  modern  dwelling!"  I  cried.  And,  in  fact,  one 
felt  the  power,  grandeur,  and  dignity  of  the  great,  broad 
rooms,  with  their  old-fashioned  furniture  of  massive 
elegance;  and  the  modern  villa,  with  its  light  effects, 
seemed  poor  and  insignificant. 

"  Yes,  child" — Gottlieb  sometimes  called  me  child  when 
I  was  alone  with  him — "my  lady  began  head  over  heels 
to  build  as  soon  as  the  Herr  died,  although  there  was  an 
abundance  of  room  here.  She  called  the  villa  her  widow's 
residence,  thinking,  of  course,  that  Herr  Gerhardt  one 


200  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

day  would  bring  a  young  mistress  here.  Well,  he  has  not 
married,  but  the  villa  is  there." 

I  looked  around,  almost  with  fear.  At  this  moment 
it  almost  seemed  as  if  over  there  in  that  dusky  room, 
under  the  glistening  candelabra,  the  future  young  mis- 
tress— Gerhardt's  wife — glided  over  the  shining  par- 
quet. 

"  It  may  yet  be,  Gottlieb,"  I  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Eh,  what!  gracious  Fraulein,"  replied  the  old  man, 
and  pushed  up  a  blind  that  let  a  flood  of  sunshine  into 
the  gloomy  room,  lighting  up  the  gold  borders  of  the 
dark  tapestry.  "  Herr  Gerhardt  will  not  marry;  if  we 
wait  for  that,  then " 

The  rest  was  drowned  in  the  noise  he  was  making 
thumping  the  red-silk  divan;  but  I  caught  the  name  Frau 
von  Riedingen  between  the  blows,  and  Gottlieb  looked 
as  if  he  had  a  very  naughty  child  under  his  hands  that 
he  was  punishing  with  a  good  will. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  he  said,  stopping  for  breath,  "  when  one 
deserves  a  good  wife,  as  Herr  Gerhardt — there,  I  have 
finished  here.  I  will  let  it  stand  open  till  this  evening. 
Go  out  of  the  draught,  child;  I  am  going  to  open  those 
outside  doors,"  he  nodded  to  me. 

Whenever  he  looked  at  me  there  would  come  a  mild, 
friendly  gleam  in  his  fine,  blue-gray  eyes  that  hardly 
suited  the  strong  expression  of  the  rugged  old  face.  It 
was  like  the  glint  of  the  autumn  sun  through  the  almost 
leafless  trees. 

I  walked  back  through  the  room,  which  was  furnished 
with  every  comfort;  but  the  splendid  bronze  clock  on 
the  chimney  had  been  silent  for  years.  The  half-burned 
wax  candles  in  the  girandoles  had  become  yellow  and 
soiled,  and  the  spiders  had  woven  their  webs  over  the 
carved  wooden  frame  of  the  high  mirror.  Gottlieb  fol- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  201 

lowed  me,  and  deliberately  locked  the  last  door  behind 
him.  Then  he  took  another  key  in  his  hand. 

"  Now  into  the  lodging-rooms,"  he  said,  and  went 
upstairs  into  the  corridor  and  unlocked  one  of  the  high 
doors,  which  opened  with  a  creak.  I  followed  without 
much  thought  of  what  I  was  doing.  It  was  a  little 
room,  with  green-and-gold  embroidered  tapestry  and  a 
white  marble  mantel-piece.  The  silk  curtains  of  the 
only  window  were  half  drawn.  In  an  alcove  stood  a 
canopied  bed;  the  white  pillows  were  thrown  on  in  dis- 
order, and  a  quilt  hung  carelessly  over  the  side,  touching 
the  floor.  On  the  marble  top  of  a  round  table  that  stood 
in  front  of  a  sofa  lay  numerous  things,  as  if  just  placed 
there — an  ink-stand,  a  pen-holder,  paper  with  monogram, 
and  envelopes;  hair-brushes,  gloves,  smelling-bottle,  and 
playing-cards.  There  were  several  books  on  the  little 
table  by  the  bed,  a  riding-whip  on  the  carpet;  and  over 
the  back  of  a  chair  hung  a  dark  uniform  coat  with  bright 
orange-yellow  collar  and  cuffs;  over  all  hung  a  faint 
odor  of  patchouly. 

"  Joachim's  room!"  I  screamed  out,  seized  with  a 
nameless  fear  as  I  was  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
possessions  of  the  man  whose  life  had  been  brought  to 
so  sudden  a  close. 

Gottlieb  stood  motionless  and  looked  about  the  room. 
"  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it,"  he  murmured,  stooping 
and  picking  up  the  whip.  "  They  turned  the  key  in  the 
door,  and  no  one  has  cared  to  look  after  it  since.  Every- 
thing is  just  as  he  left  it  when  he  went  out  that  morn- 
ing. They  must  have  all  lost  their  heads." 

And  the  old  man  began  industriously  to  put  the  room 
in  order,  like  a  chamber-maid,  and  great  drops  ran 
down  the  wrinkled  face. 

"Ah,  God!  when  one  has  seen  it  so  from  his  boyhood 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

up,"  said  he,  after  a  while,  shutting  a  half-open  drawer 
in  the  commode,  after  putting  its  contents  in  order; 
"  and  now  think  how  it  has  turned  out!  Fraulein,  there 
is  nothing  so  hard  as  when  one's  own  flesh  and  blood 
dies!  Every  evening,  when  I  close  my  eyes,  if  I  will,  I 
can  see  him  lying  before  me  with  the  deathly-pale  face; 
and  then  I  can  see  Herr  Robert  as  I  drove  him  to  town 
that  evening,  when  he  gave  himself  up  to  justice. 
Fraulein  Lena,  I  never  thought  that  a  man  could  weep 
so  bitterly;  but  when  he  gave  me  his  hand,  and  I  was 
about  to  turn  back  to  Wendhusen,  he  fell  on  my  neck 
and  held  me  to  him  as  if  I  were  his  own  father,  and  he 
began  to  weep,  and  I — truly,  little  one,  tears  do  not 
come  easy  from  me,"  he  quickly  brushed  his  hand  over 
his  eyes;  "but  it  was  the  pity  I  felt.  I  could  not  help 
it,  it  was  more  than  I  could  bear;  and  Fraulein  Charlotte, 
she  drooped  like  a  flower  broken  from  its  stem!" 

I  could  not  speak;  the  whole  terrible  catastrophe  came 
clearly  before  me  with  painful  vividness.  Stupefied,  I 
watched  the  old  man  as  with  trembling  hands  he  hung 
up  in  the  wardrobe  the  uniform  of  the  handsome,  gay 
young  officer. 

"Only  for  the  present,"  he  said,  as  if  in  apology. 
"When  the  master  comes  back  he  can  decide  what  is  to 
be  done  with  the  things.  I  know  now  how  it  happens 
that  everything  has  remained  in  such  chaos.  Herr  Ger- 
hardt  took  his  brother's  pocket-book  out  of  here.  It 
was  the  next  evening,  I  brought  the  light  for  him;  then 
he  bolted  the  door  to  the  next  room  from  the  inside 
and  locked  this  door  here.  God  knows  it  is  no  wonder 
it  was  frightful  to  him  to  come  in  here.  Probably  he 
thought  it  was  put  in  order  long  ago,  for  he  knew  I  had 
the  keys.  These  things  on  the  table  give  me  a  strange 
feeling,  as  if  one  had  just  been  sitting  there  and  writing. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  203 

That  must  not  be,  it  might  give  some  one  a  great  fright; 
and,  gracious  Fraulein,  will  you  close  that  letter  port- 
folio, I  would  rather  not  handle  it;  and  this  must  belong 
in  it!" 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  a  small  leaf  from  the  floor 
and  observed  it  attentively.  It  was  a  half-written  letter, 
on  heavy,  cream-laid  paper.  Above,  in  the  middle  of 
the  sheet,  was  the  delicately  written  autograph  signa- 
ture, "  F.  v.  R." 

I  reached  out  my  hand  for  it,  but  Gottlieb  paid  no 
attention;  his  face  had  become  dark-red,  and  he  hastily 
concealed  the  paper  in  his  breast-pocket. 

"  That  is  nothing  for  you,  Fraulein  Lena;  I  will  give 
the  letter  to  Frau  Berka,  or,  better  yet,  to  the  master  him- 
self." 

Then  he  muttered  some  angry  words  between  his 
teeth  and  stalked  furiously  out  of  the  room.  He  must 
have  read  something  very  exciting  to  forget  me  as  he 
did,  for  he  came  very  near  locking  me  in  the  room. 

I  took  Joachim's  portfolio  and  ran  hastily  down  the 
corridor  to  give  it  to  Aunt  Edith,  thankful  to  escape 
from  the  uncomfortable  room. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

But  I  could  not  find  Aunt  Edith,  and  as  I  came  breath- 
less into  the  kitchen,  Jette  informed  me  that  Frau  von 
Demphoff's  maid  had  been  there  and  Aunt  Edith  had 
gone  back  to  the  villa  with  her;  that  Aunt  Theresa  was 
ill,  and  that  Aunt  Edith  had  been  trying  to  find  me. 

I  snatched  up  a  shawl,  ran  down  the  length  of  the 
corridor,  out  of  doors,  and  entering  the  road  to  the  villa, 
ran  as  fast  as  I  could  over  the  wet  ground.  Almost  at 
the  same  time  with  me,  a  little,  plump  woman  reached 
the  villa,  the  wind  whirling  her  black  dress  about  her 
like  wings.  She  stood  still,  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot.  As 
I  came  rushing  up  to  her,  her  glance  rested  with  an 
expression  of  measureless  astonishment  upon  me;  but 
to-day  I  had  no  eyes  for  her.  What  interest  had  I  in 
Anna?  Quietly,  I  walked  past  her  up  the  stairway,  and, 
looking  back,  I  saw  her  turn  down  the  hall  on  the  first 
floor,  to  Ferra's  room. 

In  the  carpeted  corridor,  upstairs,  stood  the  letter- 
carrier's  boy,  always  so  welcome;  and,  as  he  saw  me,  he 
felt  around  in  his  pocket,  and  drew  out  a  letter  which  he 
handed  to  me. 

"  So,  gracious  Fraulein,  that  saves  my  going  to  the 
cloister."  Then  he  put  on  his  cap  and  left  me. 

My  eyes  flew  over  the  address.  "  From  Gerhardt!" 
I  cried  aloud;  I  knew  the  peculiar,  large  characters; 
how  often  had  Aunt  Edith  sent  wood-tickets,  direct 
from  his  hand,  to  her  poor! 

(204) 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  205 

The  blood  stormed  through  my  heart  as  in  a  con- 
fused dream.  I  looked  at  the  large,  four-cornered 
envelope,  forgot  for  the  moment  where  I  was  and  what 
I  did,  and,  before  I  knew  it,  I  had  pressed  my  lips  to  the 
paper.  I  stood  with  my  back  turned  to  the  stairs.  It 
was  very  still  around  me;  but  not  so  still  that  I  now 
heard  the  light  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress,  and,  as  I 
turned  around,  I  saw  the  little  black  figure  scarcely  two 
steps  from  me,  and  her  blue  eyes  took  in  sharply  the 
letter  in  my  hand,  so  I  involuntarily  thrust  it  into  my 
bosom,  and  stepped  to  one  side. 

She  went  past  me,  and  vanished  through  the  door  that 
led  to  Frau  von  Demphoff's  room,  as  calmly  as  if  she 
still  belonged  to  the  household.  The  next  moment, 
however,  she  came  out  again,  with  a  dark-red  face,  and 
almost  ran  the  length  of  the  corridor  and  down  the 
stairs,  and  I  heard  the  glass  door  of  the  vestibule  clang 
to  behind  her. 

Now  I  tore  out  my  letter,  but  only  a  few  lines  met  my 
eye: 

"NAPLES,  March  8,  18 — . 

"  For  over  two  weeks  we  have  had  no  letter  from  my  mother!  You 
promised  me,  Magdalena,  to  write  to  me  of  Charlotte's  condition — 
dare  I  hope  that  you  will  fulfill  your  promise  also  in  this  case?  Char- 
lotte is  very  anxious,  and  I  no  less  so.  Now,  sit  down  at  Aunt 
Edith's  writing-desk,  take  the  pen  in  your  hand,  and  write  a  few 
lines,  and  do  not  dare  to  forget  to  add  how  everything  is  going  in  the 
old  cloister,  and  if  a  certain  little  FrUulein  is  obedient,  and  puts  out  her 
light  at  the  right  time.  Unfortunately,  in  your  letters  to  Charlotte,  I 
have  found  no  information  on  this  point.  We  have  a  longing  for 
Wendhusen,  in  spite  of  all  the  splendor  of  sun  and  warmth.  '  Only 
for  Germany  does  my  heart  long,'  as  Lottchen  sings  for  me,  at  my 
entreaty.  Yet,  the  snow  still  lies  on  our  mountains,  and  the  wind 
blows  cold;  but  in  a  few  weeks,  so  I  hope,  we  can  pack  our  trunks! 
Pray  God,  that  we  may  find  again  in  Wendhusen  all  that  we  left  there 
when  we  deserted  it. 


206  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

"  Send  an  answer  soon,  Magdalena.  It  is  to  be  hoped  our  anxiety 
about  mamma  is  only  a  fancy.  Charlotte  sends  her  warmest  love,  as 
does  your  GERHARDT. 

"P.  S. — I  have  received  a  letter  from  George." 

That  was  all.  For  a  moment  I  looked  down  on  the 
broad,  white  page,  disappointed  at  the  brief  contents. 
Then  I  went  softly  into  the  next  room;  through  that, 
into  Frau  von  Demphoff's  salon,  the  same  room  in  which 
I  first  stood  before  her,  homesick  and  trembling  before 
her  cold  glance.  There  hung  Ferra's  portrait,  in  the 
same  place,  above  the  plants;  Joachim's  picture,  how- 
ever, was  covered  with  a  black  curtain.  From  the 
adjoining  room  sounded  subdued  voices,  and  now  and 
then  a  groan  from  pain.  The  portieres  were  let  down. 
I  could  hear  distinctly  Aunt  Edith's  soothing  tones. 

"  I  will  not  have  Ferra  come,"  I  recognized  the  hard, 
energetic  voice  of  the  sick  woman;  "  I  wish  to  be  alone, 
only  alone." 

Timidly  I  went  to  the  curtained  door.  "Aunt!"  I 
ventured  to  call.  The  anxious  face  of  the  housemaid 
looked  through  the  parted  folds. 

"  Will  you  ask  my  Aunt  to  step  here  a  moment?"  I 
asked,  and  she  came  directly.  I  showed  her  Gerhardt's 
letter,  which  she  quietly  read  through;  then  she  gave  it, 
back  to  me,  and  returned  to  the  room. 

"  Theresa,  would  you  like  Gerhardt  to  come?"  she 
asked,  in  a  kind,  sympathetic  voice. 

"  No,"  came  back  the  weary  reply,  "  nobody,  nobody; 
even  if  I  should  be  worse.  Do  you  hear,  Edith? — no 
one." 

Aunt  Edith  came  back  again. 

"  Do  not  reply  to  the  letter,  dear,  until  the  doctor  has 
been  here." 

"  Can  I  help  in  any  way,  Auntie?" 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  207 

'  Not  now,  my  darling;  come  again  toward  evening. 
I  am  almost  afraid  it  will  be  a  nervous  fever." 

I  went  back  to  the  cloister,  and  there  I  sat  until  after 
sunset,  with  Gerhardt's  letter  in  my  hancjs,  reading  the 
lines  over  and  over,  even  to  the  two  last  words  in  con- 
clusion, "Your  Gerhardt!" 

Before  the  name  Gerhardt  was  a  large  C.  This 
letter  was  crossed  out.  He  had  begun  to  write  Cousin, 
"Cousin  Gerhardt,"  and  had  changed  his  mind. 

But  why?  I  used  to  call  him  Cousin;  but  still  I  found 
it  quite  right;  it  sounded  a  thousand  times  nicer,  "  Your 
Gerhardt,"  than  "Cousin  Gerhardt."  I  would  never 
again  call  him  anything  but  "  Gerhardt."  What  wonder- 
fully delicious  things  traveled  through  my  head  in  that 
quiet  hour.  Everything  that  had  depressed  me,  the  bur- 
den I  had  been  carrying,  which  weighed  upon  me  so  at 
times,  slipped  entirely  off,  and  for  the  first  time  my 
young  heart  was  flooded  with  sunshine  so  blinding  that 
I  had  to  close  my  eyes  before  its  glow;  and  outside,  the 
budded  branches  of  the  linden  knocked  on  the  window- 
pane.  The  spring  will  soon  be  here! 

Finally  I  remembered  that  I  promised  Aunt  Edith  to 
go  back  to  the  villa.  Slowly  I  rose  to  my  feet;  I  would 
infinitely  have  preferred  to  sit  there  and  dream.  I 
stopped  in  the  corridor,  before  our  kitchen  door.  Jette 
was  singing  at  the  spinning-wheel.  How  often  had  I 
heard  it,  and  scarcely  listened  to  the  melancholy  folk- 
song; but  now  the  words  arrested  my  attention.  Yes, 
that  was  the  song  that  Gerhardt  wrote  of: 

"  Only  for  Germany  does  my  heart  long." 

I  leaned  against  the  cold  wall  and  listened  to  the  mel- 
ody. After  a  little  pause  the  fresh,  young  voice  began 
again: 


208  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

"  There  is  a  land  called  Italy, 
Where  oranges  and  citrons  bloom. 
Sing!  said  the  Roman  maid, 
And  I  sang  of  our  Northern  land. 
Only  in  Germany,  only  in  Germany, 
There  shall  my  sweetheart  dwell." 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  my  face;  I  literally  flew  out 
of  the  house  into  the  cool  garden,  and,  breathless,  I 
arrived  at  the  villa.  There  I  found  everything  in  com- 
motion; the  condition  of  the  sick  woman  was  much 
worse.  At  the  desk  in  the  salon  sat  the  old  physician, 
writing  a  prescription.  A  dish  of  ice  lay  on  the  carpet 
before  the  blue  porti&res,  which  moved  back  and  forth  as 
in  a  strong  draught. 

"  Where  is  Aunt  Edith?"  I  asked  the  maid,  who  was 
hurrying  through  the  room. 

"  Here,  Fraulein  Lena.  You  need  not  walk  lightly; 
Frau  Demphoff  is  out  of  her  head." 

I  went  into  the  room.  The  luxurious  room  seemed 
filled  with  solemnity,  which  reflected  on  the  silken  cur- 
tains of  the  canopied  bed;  the  curtains  were  thrown 
back  wide,  that  the  cold  air  which  streamed  in  from  the 
open  window  could  circulate  about  the  bed  and  reach 
the  feverish  face  that  rested  on  the  white  pillows  with 
half-closed  eyes. 

Aunt  Edith  stood  at  the  bedside,  laying  a  fresh  cold 
compress  on  the  head  of  the  invalid. 

The  carpet  deadened  the  sound  of  my  steps.  She 
heard  me  first  when  I  stood  beside  her,  and  looked 
around  in  a  startled  way. 

"  Go  out  immediately,  Lena,"  she  said,  authoritatively, 
"  this  is  a  contagious  disease." 

"  No,  dear  Auntie,  let  me  stay.  I  am  young,  healthy, 
and  strong;  you  will  surely  have  rheumatism  in  this  cold 
room." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  209 

"  Never  mind  that,  child;  the  young  catch  infectious 
diseases  quicker  than  the  old — go!" 

"  No!"  I  said,  decidedly. 

The  woman  who  lay  there  was  Gerhardt's  mother,  and 
he  was  worried  about  her.  How  could  I  go  away? 

"  Lena!"  Aunt  Edith's  good  face  was  red  with  anger 
at  my  obstinacy. 

"  I  will  not  go!"  I  repeated  again,  and  took  from  her 
the  compress  that  she  was  going  to  lay  on  the  ice.  "  Do 
you  think  I  can  not  nurse  the  sick?" 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that,  you  willful  child;  but  I  know  Ger- 
hardt  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  let  you  run  such  a  risk.'' 

"  Gerhardt  is  very  anxious  about  his  mother;  I  must 
answer  him.  What  shall  I  write?"  I  asked,  evasively. 
"What  does  the  doctor  say?" 

"  He  is  not  willing  that  he  shall  be  sent  for,  on  Char- 
lotte's account;  she  is  not  yet  recovered.  So  write  to  him 
that  his  mother  is  well,  but  not  in  the  mood  to  write, 
or  whatever  excuse  you  choose;  only  go  out  of  here,  I 
beg  you." 

"  By  no  means,  Aunt  Edith,"  I  replied;  and  turning  to 
the  doctor,  who  just  at  that  moment  entered,  I  said, 
entreatingly,  "  I  am  right  to  stay,  am  I  not?" 

The  old  man  looked  kindly  at  me. 

"  Accept  help,  Frau  Berka;  this  will  not  be  ended 
to-day  or  to-morrow." 

And  with  a  sigh  Aunt  Edith  suffered  me  to  take  her 
place,  and  quickly  and  regularly  to  change  the  com- 
presses. 

Aunt  Demphoff  talked  continually  softly  to  herself; 
there  was  something  very  uncomfortable  in  the  half- 
darkened  room.  Sometimes  she  would  call  out  a  loud 
word,  and  each  time  Aunt  Edith  would  come  in  with 
anxious  mien. 
14 


210  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  It  is  not  true,"  whispered  Aunt  Demphoff.  "Who 
saw  it?  Robert!  Robert!  and  if  they  all  say  it,  I — I  will 
not  believe  it." 

And  then,  loud  and  strong: 

"  Bring  me  the  girl!  bring  her  to  me,  Gerhardt;  I  will 
love  her!"  Aunt  Edith  shook  her  head  as  she  listened. 

"  She  is  delirious,  child;  go  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room.  You  need  not  hear  it." 

But  I  remained  where  I  was.  It  seemed  as  if  I  was 
chained  to  the  bed  of  the  fever-crazed  woman. 

As  the  night  came  on,  the  patient  quieted.  Aunt 
Edith  lay  on  the  lounge,  where  she  could  overlook  the 
bed,  and  the  maid  slept  in  the  easy-chair;  she  had 
watched  the  night  before. 

"At  last  Frau  Demphoff  would  not  lie  down  at  all," 
she  related  to  us. 

Outside,  a  mighty  storm  was  raging  and  roaring  through 
the  tall  trees  of  the  park.  I  listened  to  its  harsh  song. 
Whence  had  it  come?  Softly  I  stepped  into  the  salon 
and  opened  a  window.  A  warm  breath  met  me;  it  was 
the  south  wind  that  thawed  the  snow  on  the  mountains. 
Possibly,  it  had  come  hither  over  Italian  fields. 

"  Have  you  not  seen  Gerhardt?"  I  asked,  half  aloud, 
and  bent  far  out  into  the  storm,  which  tossed  my  hair 
wildly  about  my  face;  and  through  all  the  furor  sounded 
a  melody  clear  as  a  bell  in  my  ear: 

"  There  is  a  land  called  Italy, 
Where  oranges  and  citrons  bloom. 
Only  in  Germany,  only  in  Germany, 
There  shall  my  sweetheart  dwell." 

O,  if  one  could  only  fly  over  the  mountains,  far,  far 
out  into  the  land  to  the  distant  South!  If  the  time 
would  only  go  as  fast  as  the  storm ! 

But  the  time  dragged  on  so  slowly,  so  torturingly. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  211 

Would  it  never  be  day  in  the  sick-room?  And  when  the 
first  rays  of  the  morning  sun  lightened  the  shadows  of  the 
gloomy  place,  Aunt  Edith  sat  with  tearful  eyes  beside 
the  bed,  holding  the  hands  of  the  sufferer.  What  a 
fearfully  tortured  human  heart  was  revealed  by  the 
disconnected  words  that  came  from  the  parched  lips! 
The  maid  was  sent  out  of  the  room,  and  Aunt  Edith 
consented  to  let  me  help  her. 

"  Edith!  Edith,  forgive  me!"  cried  out  the  invalid.  "  I 
loved  him  so — I  wanted  to  be  everything  to  him.  Were 
you  in  Fftlkerode?  I  was  there,  too.  How  pale  he 
looks,  the  poor  boy — my  darling,  my  Robert.  What  is  it 
you  lack?  You  shall  have  anything,  what  you  will,  only 
do  not  look  at  me  so;  I  can  not  bear  it.  Joachim,  leave 
me;  I  have  nothing  more — nothing,  nothing!"  she 
shrieked  out,  and  struck  her  hand  on  the  quilt.  "  Every- 
thing is  gone,  except  the  diamond  button  of  your 
father's;  that  belongs  to  Gerhardt." 

And  so  passed  the  morning.  The  servants  stole  about 
on  tiptoe,  and  there  were  pale,  anxious  faces  everywhere. 
The  doctor  came,  and  I  asked  again  if  Gerhardt  should 
not  be  informed. 

"  Let  him  be  where  he  is,  little  Fraulein,"  replied  the 
old  Herr.  "  With  God's  help,  we  will  bring  her  through; 
and  if  the  worst  comes,  there  is  the  telegraph.  Above 
all  things,  do  not  get  Frau  von  Riedingen  here;  I  had 
her  once  at  a  sick-bed,  and  I  really  thought  she  would 
be  the  death  of  Gerhardt." 

Toward  3  o'clock  I  went  over  to  the  cloister.  Ger- 
hardt must  have  his  answer,  and  I  must  lie  to  him  in  my 
first  letter!  But  what  did  it  matter?  So,  as  calmly  as  1 
could,  I  wrote  that  everything  was  going  on  well  in 
Wendhusen — everything  in  the  best  of  order;  that 
Frau  von  Demphoff,  in  Aunt  Edith's  opinion,  was  only 


212  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"out  of  sorts;"  that  we  were  all  well  in  the  cloister — 
the  "certain  little  Fraulein"  and  the  cats — and  that  at  10 
o'clock  the  whole  household  were  sweet  and  fast  asleep, 
if  the  storm  did  not  roar  too  loud  around  the  building; 
that  the  snow  still  lay  on  the  mountains,  and  Gott- 
lieb still  had  to  put  great  beech  logs  on  the  fire,  but  that 
the  snowbells  were  putting  out  their  first  tender  shoots, 
and  in  the  cloister  garden  all  the  trees  were  in  full  bud. 
How  many  times  I  read  over  the  letter  before  I  put  it 
in  the  envelope! 

I  was  very  confident  it  would  not  be  complete  without 
a  postscript;  so  that  grew  to  be  longer  than  the  letter  itself, 
It  was  no  wonder  that  my  first  letter  was  somewhat  of  a 
failure.  I  had  learned  at  school  to  very  correctly  com- 
pose a  letter  to  an  imaginary  person,  but  to-day  I  forgot 
all  that,  and  one  thought  chased  another  pell-mell — I  was 
writing  to  Gerhardt.  Finally  it  was  sealed  with  mamma's 
little  seal-ring  that  I  had  inherited;  now  the  address,  and 
then  Jette  must  carry  it  to  the  post.  A  mischievous 
smile  stole  over  the  girl's  pretty  face  as  I  laid,  with  a  sigh, 
my  letter  in  her  hand.  I  could  think  of  so  many  things 
I  wished  I  had  written,  but  it  was  too  late  now;  and 
besides  I  must  hasten  back  to  the  villa,  and  relieve  Aunt 
Edith  at  the  sick-bed. 

As  I  stepped  into  the  vestibule,  the  voice  of  a  child 
crying  struck  my  ear  from  the  hall. 
"Dear  mamma!  dear  mamma!" 

A  woman's  voice  tried  in  vain  to  comfort  it.  Wonder- 
ing, I  drew  near.  Trunks,  satchels,  hat-boxes,  in  great 
disorder,  lay  on  the  floor,  and  among  them  kneeled  the 
nurse  of  little  Kurt,  trying  to  soothe  the  child,  who  was 
still  in  his  fur-trimmed  coat. 

"Kurt,  dearest,  are  you  here?"  I  cried,  hurrying  to  the 
little  one. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN  213 

"  Kurt  is  cold;  Kurt  wants  to  go  to  grandmamma," 
wept  the  child;  and  in  fact  it  was  bitter  cold  here. 

"Poor  little  fellow!"  I  said,  pityingly,  picking  him  up. 
"When  did  Frau  von  Riedingen  come?" 

"Just  this  moment,"  replied  the  nurse.  "We  drove 
in  an  open  carriage.  Madame  went  directly  up  to  Frau 
von  Demphoff ;  I  can  not  leave  the  child  alone,  else " 

"  Does  Frau  von  Riedingen  know  her  mother  is  ill?"  I 
asked. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  modest  little  French  woman. 
"  Madame  packed  neck  over  heels.  We  were  ready  in 
half  an  hour  after  the  dispatch  came;  we  have  traveled 
all  night." 

"A  dispatch?    Who  has  telegraphed?" 

"  I  believe  Mademoiselle  Anna,"  she  answered. 

"  I  will  send  someone  to  you  with  warm  milk,"  I  said 
to  the  child,  putting  him  down;  and,  meeting  a  servant 
on  the  stairs,  I  gave  the  order,  and  went  on  up  to  the 
sick-room.  As  I  entered,  I  heard  Ferra's  voice  in  the 
ante-room. 

"  I  pray  you,  dear  Aunt,  to  confide  the  care  of  mamma 
to  me.  It  is  very  noble  in  you  to  come  here,  in  spite  of 
all  that  has  happened  between  you;  in  fact,  I  never 
expected,  best  of  aunts,  to  ever  see  you  in  these  rooms 
again.  You  must  have  noticed  how  I  shrank  from  you 
as  if  I  had  seen  a  ghost.  You  have  an  angel's  heart, 
dearest  of  aunts;  but  think  how  vexed  she  would  be, 
when  she  came  to  consciousness,  and " 

I  came  into  the  salon  during  the  last  words.  Ferra 
had  taken  off  her  fur  coat  and  hat,  and  was  tying  around 
her  a  big,  white  apron.  Heaven  knows  where  she  could 
have  got  it,  in  such  a  short  space  of  time. 

"  So  I  will  now  go  in,  Aunt,  and  I  thank  you  again  for 
what  you  have  done." 


214  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

"Your  mother,  Ferra,  has  expressed  the  desire  that  I 
should  be  at  her  sick-bed,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  quietly. 

"  Mamma?  Impossible,  Aunt!  No;  there  is  a  mistake 
somewhere — an  inconceivable  error." 

"By  no  means,  Ferra;"  and  now  Auntie  smiled  a  little. 

"  Then  it  was  the  ravings  of  fever,  Aunt.  You  will 
not  make  me  believe  that  my  strong,  inflexible  mother 
could  so  suddenly  overcome  her  antipathy  of  nearly 
thirty  years." 

"She  herself  can  not  give  you  any  explanation  at  pres- 
ent, Ferra;  you  will  have  to  be  patient,  at  least  for  the 
particulars  on  this  point,  until  your  mother  is  well." 

Ferra  looked  at  the  speaker  in  amazement. 

"  I  do  not  know— in  fact,  Aunt  Berka "  she  stut- 
tered. 

But  Aunt  continued:  "I  think  you  ought  to  know, 
Ferra,  that  this  illness  is  contagious." 

Ferra  turned  her  beautiful  face  to  Aunt,  listening 
intently. 

"My  God!  what  ails  mamma?  Probably  a  nervous 
trouble?" 

"Your  mother  has  typhoid  fever,  Ferra." 

"Typhoid!  that  dreadful  illness  where  all  the  hair 
comes  out?"  she  cried,  filled  with  affright;  and,  stepping 
back,  "  O,  heavens!  the  typhoid  is  contagious.  Melanie 
von  Stelten  was  perfectly  bald  after  that  terrible  sick- 
ness! Why,  Aunt,  this  is  horrible!" 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  a  helpless  way;  it  looked  as 
if  she  were  ready  to  fly  out  of  the  room,  if  she  could 
only  find  some  mask  for  her  cowardice. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  you  will  not  insist  upon  carrying 
out  your  will,"  said  Aunt  Edith,  seriously.  Only  a  slight 
drawing  of  the  upper  lip  showed  how  well  she  under- 
stood managing  her  handsome  niece.  "  You  must  think 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  215 

of  your  little  child,"  she  continued;  "we  concealed  this 
illness  from  you  for  that  reason." 

"You  are  right,  dear  Aunt,"  deplored  the  young 

woman;  "situated  as  I  am,  I  do  not  dare O,  my 

mamma!  my  poor  mamma!"  She  untied  the  white 
apron;  then,  as  she  turned  to  the  door,  she  discovered 
me. 

"  O,  Lena,  how  sorrowful  is  our  meeting!" 

"Your  little  one  is  crying  down-stairs,  Cousin,"  I 
said;  "he  is  chilled  in  the  unheated  room,  and — you 
had  better  not  kiss  me;  I  have  been  all  night  and  this 
morning  in  the  sick-room."  Hastily  Ferra  stepped  back. 

•'  I  must  see  after  the  child,  if  I  really  can  be  of  no 
service  here,"  she  declared,  already  half  behind  the  por- 
tibre;  "  but  be  sure,"  she  turned  her  head  back  again, 
"  if  you  need  my  help,  to " 

"  Very  well,"  nodded  Aunt  Edith,  and  Ferra  vanished. 

A  peculiar  smile  lay  on  the  face  of  the  old  lady. 

"  What  brought  Ferra  here  in  such  haste?"  she  asked 
me. 

"Anna  telegraphed  to  her,  Auntie,"  I  replied,  and 
was  hurrying  past  her  to  go  into  the  sick-room. 

"Stop!"  she  said,  and  stood  with  outstretched  arms 
before  the  door;  "just  one  serious  word:  under  no  con- 
sideration will  I  allow  you  to  remain  here;  besides,  this 
evening  a  nurse  is  coming.  I  dare  not  consent  to  your 
staying  here,  for  I  promised  Gerhardt  to  care  for  you  and 
your  health,  and  I  will  not  take  the  responsibility  of  risk- 
ing this  infectious  disease." 

"  Auntie,"  I  cried,  throwing  my  arms  around  her 
neck,  "  Gerhardt  will  not  be  angry,  I  know;  it  is  his 
mother  that  I  want  to  care  for." 

"  That  does  not  matter;  you  must  go." 

«  But " 


216  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"No  but;  in  five  minutes  you  must  be  out  of  this 
room." 

Almost  weeping,  I  went.  What  should  I  do  over  there, 
alone,  in  the  old  cloister?  As  I  went  down  the  stairs  I 
heard  Ferra's  scolding  voice. 

"  It  was  absurd  in  you  to  telegraph  me,  and  frighten 
me  to  death!" 

A  servant  was  carrying  some  tea  and  light  refreshment 
into  the  room,  and  through  the  opening  of  the  door  I 
saw  Anna  standing  before  the  young  woman. 

"  I  suppose  you  can  at  least  tell  me,"  she  continued, 
still  more  angry,  "  what  I  want  to  know.  I  have  seen 
that  they  are  up  there;  but  how  came " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

I  hurried  out  and  away,  as  fast  as  I  could,  to  the  clois- 
ter, and  went  back  and  forth  restlessly  through  the 
rooms.  It  was  so  lonely  here;  only  Minka  kept  me 
company  and  walked  along  behind  me,  and  looked  at 
me  as  if  she  would  ask  where  her  mistress  was. 

I  would  so  gladly,  so  willingly,  have  stayed  over  there 
with  his  mother!  And,  as  the  darkness  of  night  came 
on,  I  could  not  contain  myself  any  longer,  and  again  ran 
back  to  the  villa.  Ferra's  windows  were  brightly 
lighted.  In  the  vestibule,  Frau  von  Demphoff's  maid 
came  toward  me. 

"  How  is  it  above?"  I  asked  her. 

"Worse!  gracious  Fraulein.  She  raves  and  shrieks  till 
one  can  hear  her  all  over  the  house.  The  doctor  is 
going  to  stay  all  night,  and  the  nurse  has  come.  Do  not 
go  up,  Frau  Berka  has  forbidden  it;  under  no  circum- 
stances were  you  to  go  in." 

I  turned  around,  sad  and  depressed.  Should  I  go 
back  to  the  cloister?  No,  I  could  not  stay  there  alone; 
and  before  I  really  knew  what  I  did,  I  was  standing  in 
Ferra's  room.  It  was  warm  and  comfortable  in  the 
small  but  elegant  apartment,  with  its  pale-blue  decora- 
tions. Dainty  chairs  stood  around  a  small  marble  table; 
a  thick,  richly-hued  carpet  covered  the  floor;  in  the 
corners  of  the  room  were  grouped  tropical  plants  and 
azaleas,  and  out  of  the  luxuriant  foliage  gleamed  marble 
figures;  the  whole  bathed  in  the  softened  light  from  the 
shaded  lamp  swinging  from  the  ceiling. 


218  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

I  opened  wide  my  eyes.  It  was  the  first  time  that  I 
had  seen  Ferra's  "  widow's  refuge;"  the  first  glimpse  I 
had  ever  had  of  the  apartments  of  a  fashionable  woman. 

Charlotte's  room  was  so  different — so  simple,  so  girl- 
ish, with  its  rose-flowered  cretonne  furniture  and  hang- 
ings; the  sewing-stand  by  the  window;  the  flowering 
plants  on  the  balcony,  from  which  the  little  birds  came 
so  confidingly  and  hopped  about  on  the  sill,  picking  up 
the  bits  of  bread  put  there  for  them. 

Timidly  I  crossed  this  reception-room,  and  knocked 
on  the  door,  behind  which  I  heard  Ferra  speaking. 

"  Mamma!  somebody  knocks,"  cried  Kurt's  voice,  and 
directly  an  unskillful  baby  hand  with  difficulty  opened 
the  door. 

"  Dare  I  come  in?"  I  asked. 

I  expected  to  see  Ferra  sitting  in  the  sofa-corner, 
weeping  for  very  anxiety  over  her  sick  mother,  as  I  had 
done  not  long  before.  I  stood  still  with  amazement. 
It  was  a  picture  for  an  artist  before  me;  but  it  did, not 
belong  in  a  house  where  a  human  life  was  wrestling  with 
death. 

There,  on  a  sofa  that  had  been  drawn  up  before  the 
fire,  lay  Ferra.  She  had  on  a  white  cashmere  wrapper, 
and  her  wonderful  golden  hair  hung  down,  unconfined 
and  golden,  till  it  touched  the  green  Smyrna  rug.  She 
was  shading  her  face  with  a  hand  screen;  the  wide,  flow- 
ing sleeve  had  fallen  back,  and  the  beautiful  arm  had 
the  marble  whiteness  of  a  statue.  There  was  a  roguish 
expression  on  the  lovely  face,  and  evident  amusement 
lay  under  the  long  lids  as  she  looked  down  on  the  young 
girl  kneeling  before  her,  who  stretched  her  delicate 
hands  entreatingly  toward  her. 

They  did  not  see  me,  either  of  them,  and  Ferra  con- 
tinued: 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  219 

"  Do  not  worry,  Melanie;  I  can  not  show  it  to  you 
yet;  better  take  the  proofs  from  Gieson;  see  it  through, 
and  take  my  advice " 

"Mamma,  Lena  is  here!"  interrupted  the  little  boy, 
and  pulled  the  blonde  hair  energetically.  Ferra  raised 
up  quickly,  and  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"Why,  Lena!  what  is  the  matter?"  she  asked;  "has 
anything  happened?" 

The  young  lady  also  rose  up  and  stood  near  the  sofa, 
observing  me  with  evident  astonishment.  She  wore  a 
riding-habit  that  fitted  perfectly  the  slender,  graceful 
figure;  a  pale  face,  with  regular  features,  and  a  pair  of 
almost  melancholy  brown  eyes. 

"  Nothing,  Ferra,"  I  stammered.  "  Forgive  me  that 
I  disturbed  you;  but  I  was  so  afraid,  alone  in  the  old 
cloister." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Ferra,  languidly,  "  it  is  impos- 
sible for  you  to  be  quartered  here;  you  must  see  that 
yourself.  Aunt  has  kindly  sacrificed  herself  to  be  with 
mamma." 

"O  no,  Ferra!"  I  cried,  and  threw  back  my  head;  "  I 
did  not  mean  that.  I  thought  you  would  be  anxious 
about  your  mother,  and  I  could  help  you  to  drive  away 
a  lonely  hour  as  well  as  myself;  and  if  I  am  here,  I  can 
ask  often  how  she  is." 

"  My  cousin,  Magdalena  von  Demphoff,"  informed 
Ferra,  to  the  questioning  glance  of  the  young  woman; 
"  Friiulein  von  Stelten." 

"  My  dear  Ferra,"  said  the  latter,  "  what  an  absurd 
creature  you  are!  You  made  me  come  on  the  gallop,  a 
mile  and  a  half,  here,  in  this  storm,  and  yet  you  have 
the  nicest  company  one  could  wish — quite  the  type  of 
Allenberg's  Gypsy  Maiden  that  made  such  a.  furor  in  the 
exhibition." 


220  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

Ferra  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  stay,  Lena,  at  least  close  the 
door  through  which  you  just  entered." 

"  Of  course  she  will  stay!"  decided  Melanie  von  Stel- 
ten.  "  Now  you  have  come,  little  FrSulein  von  Demp- 
hoff,  I  must  go  in  a  moment;  and  you  need  not  be  alone, 
Ferra." 

"  Will  you  really  not  stay,  Melanie?" 

"  Surely  not;  I  did  not  tell  anyone  at  home  where  I 
was  going.  Hark!"  She  nodded  her  head  toward  the 
window.  "  There  comes  Jean  with  the  horses." 

She  picked  up  a  jaunty  felt  hat,  pressed  it  coquettishly 
on  the  brown  braids,  and  drew  on  a  fur-trimmed  velvet 
jacket. 

"  Good-bye,  Ferra  Mia,"  she  said,  and  threw  her  arms 
around  the  neck  of  the  young  woman  in  the  white  cash- 
mere ndgligd.  "As  soon  as  I  can,  I  will  come  again  to 
inquire  after  your  mother.  I  hope  from  my  heart  that 
she  will  soon  be  better.  Does  your  brother  know  of  the 
illness?  Is  he  coming?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ferra,  returning  the  kiss  of  the  fresh  lips 
that  lightly  touched  her  forehead.  "  Would  you  believe 
it!  I  had  the  dispatch  all  ready  when  the  doctor  literally 
tore  it  out  of  my  hands;  now  I  wash  my  hands — Ger- 
hardt  will  be  angry." 

"Do  not  worry,"  replied  Melanie;  "the  old  doctor 
can  judge  whether  and  when  Gerhardt's  presence  is  nec- 
essary; he  will  think  of  him  and  of  Charlotte." 

They  had  reached  the  door  with  these  words,  and 
Melanie  von  Stelten  bent  down  to  Kurt. 

"  Adieu,  little  one,"  she  said,  and  stroked  the  fair  hair 
of  the  child.  In  the  open  door  she  stopped  and  turned 
around.  "  Adieu,  Fraulein  von  Demphoff ;"  it  had  a 
friendly  ring.  "I  hope  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  221 

seeing  you  often  here,  and 'if  you  take  a  drive  over  to 
Nissen,  do  not  pass  us  by." 

Before  I  could  thank  her,  the  door  had  closed  behind 
both  the  slender  figures;  then  the  little  one  hurried 
after  them,  and  I  stood  alone  in  Ferra's  salon.  Over  all, 
deep,  dark-green;  the  soft-green  giant  fern-leaf  pattern 
woven  through  the  carpet  that  covered  the  entire  floor; 
fancy  tables  of  delicate  workmanship  standing  about; 
stuffed  easy-chairs;  there  a  comfortable  divan  for  two, 
among  a  group  of  Southern  palms;  near  by,  a  writing- 
desk  with  a  thousand  pretty  trifles;  and  above,  a  life- 
size  photograph  of  a  stately  officer  in  a  handsome 
frame.  In  the  opposite  corner,  but  standing  on  an  easel 
of  dark  wood,  was  Joachim's  portrait. 

I  went  up  to  it  and  gazed  at  the  handsome  face;  but, 
as  I  observed  him  closely,  I  saw  again  the  dissolute,  vain 
expression  of  the  black  eyes,  and  I  shook  my  head  in 
gentle  condemnation. 

"  Well?"  questioned  Ferra's  voice  behind  me. 

I  turned  around. 

"  I  am  going  directly,"  I  said.  "  I  was  only  waiting 
for  Fraulein  von  Stelten  to  go." 

"Heavens!  what  is  your  hurry?  Drink  tea  with  me; 
I  ordered  it  at  8  o'clock.  I  am  naturally  tired  from  the 
journey.  Apropos,  how  are  you  pleased  with  Melanie  von 
Stelten?" 

She  spoke  lightly,  leading  her  boy  by  the  hand  to  the 
adjoining  room,  which  door  she  opened. 

"Mademoiselle!"  she  called,  in  her  ringing  voice; 
"  Kurt  is  tired;  put  him  to  bed." 

And,  kissing  the  child  indifferently,  she  came  back. 

"  Isn't  she  lovely?"  she  volunteered. 

"Yes,  I  find  her  charming;  so  natural  and  so  kindly." 

Ferra  nodded.     "  Truly,"  she  said,  carelessly.     "  She 


223  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

is  the  only  one  that  I  would  willingly  have  for  a  sister- 
in-law,  if  there  must  be  a  sister-in-law." 

Had  I  heard  aright?  My  hand  went  suddenly  to  my 
heart;  it  was  as  if  a  sharp-pointed  iron  had  entered  there. 
I  had  never  learned  how  to  feign,  and  the  two  great 
eyes  that  were  keenly  scrutinizing  me  from  under  the 
long  lids  could  not  fail  to  see  that  I  was  seized  as  with  a 
vertigo,  as  I  looked  into  the  yawning  gulf  that  had  so 
suddenly  opened  at  my  feet. 

"You  seem  quite  upset,  Lena.  But  you  know  the 
unexpected  often  happens,  and  Italy  matured  the  fruit 
that  never  would  have  ripened  here.  Melanie  was  six 
weeks  in  Venice  and  Rome  with  her  aunt,  and  she  spent 
almost  every  day  with  Gerhardt  and  Lottchen.  Has 
not  Charlotte  written  you  about  it?  No?  That  is  best, 
after  all;  one  must  not  speak  much  of  such  things." 

As  from  a  far  distance  these  words  rang  in  my  ear, 
and  such  a  deadly  stillness  had  taken  possession  of  me 
that  I  almost  shrank  from  the  sound  of  my  own  voice. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  Gerhardt — a  sweet,  lovely 

woman "  The  last  words  would  not  pass  my  lips.  I 

set  my  teeth  together  as  with  extreme  bodily  pain,  and 
was  silent. 

"And  she  has  nearly  half  a  million;  and  that  is  the 
principal  thing,  my  child." 

"  No,  Ferra!"  I  found  my  voice  now;  "not  for  Ger- 
hardt, surely!" 

She  laughed  merrily. 

"You  silly  one!  do  you  believe  Gerhardt  would  be  so 
foolish,  in  his  condition,  as  to  burden  himself  with  a  poor 
wife?  Think  once,  how  many  there  are  in  Wendhusen  to 
be  fed  and  clothed.  There  is  mamma,  whose  private 
income  has  been  all  used  up  through  Joachim's  extrava- 
gance; here  am  I,  whose  capital  has  long  since  passed 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  223 

out  of  existence,  except  some  bonds  that  I  can  not 
realize  upon.  Faugh!"  she  said,  shaking  herself,  "there 
is  Kurt  and  Aunt  Edith,  and  beside  a  host  of  poor  rela- 
tions that  hang  on  Gerhardt  like  chains.  What  could  he 
do?  His  pecuniary  burden  would  not  permit  him  to 
remain  unmarried  enfin.  He  sought  a  rich  wife;  God 
be  thanked  that  it  is  at  least  Melanie." 

"  He  does  not  love  her,  Ferra!"  I  stammered. 

"Child!  love?  Naturally  he  loves  her;  anyone  would 
show  great  ardor  when  suing  for  a  beautiful,  rich  girl, 
and  I  said  Gerhardt's  wife  must  be  rich.  Did  you  think, 
child"  (she  took  a  letter  from  the  table  and  handed  it 
over  to  me),  "  that  the  deepest  well  would  not  finally  be 
empty  if  one  drew  out  of  it  in  this  manner?" 

I  threw  an  unsteady  glance  on  the  paper;  then  my 
eyes  were  glued  fast  to  one  place.  It  was  a  letter  from 
my  guardian  to  Gerhardt,  containing  the  request  that 
he  would  pay  150  thalers  that  my  mother  borrowed, 
during  the  last  days  of  her  life,  of  her  landlord,  as  the 
man  needed  the  money  badly. 

"  Ferra,  will  you  excuse  me  if  I  go?"  I  said,  with  diffi- 
culty, and  turned  to  the  door.  The  room  and  everything 
in  it  were  dancing  in  whirling  circles  before  my  eyes. 
Staggering,  I  walked  over  the  soft  carpet,  and  out  into 
the  cold  evening  air,  through  the  dark  park.  Above  me 
roared  the  storm,  and  the  branches  shook  over  my  head; 
the  wind  tore  from  me  the  shawl  that  I  had  wrapped 
myself  in,  but  I  heeded  it  not.  To  this  day  I  do  not 
know  how  I  reached  my  room  and  felt  for  my  bed  in 
the  darkness.  There  I  lay  in  the  deep  stillness;  I  felt 
more  wretched,  more  forsaken,  than  ever  before  in  my 
life. 

The  first  clear  feeling  was  a  burning  shame  for  the 
foolish  dream  I  had  indulged  in.  How  had  it  been 


224  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

possible  for  me  to  take  Cousin  Gerhardt's  sympathy  for 
something  else?  The  beautiful  woman  in  the  riding- 
habit  rose  before  my  eyes,  and  at  the  same  time  the  small, 
dark,  childish-looking  girl.  O,  how  ashamed  I  felt!  He 
must  have  read  in  every  line  of  my  letter  that  I  thought 
only  of  him! 

That  was  the  reason  he  did  not  write  as  he  promised; 
he  had  no  time  to  give  to  another.  Only  now,  now  that 
she  was  in  Germany  again,  had  he  a  longing  for  Wend- 
husen. 

And  then  I  saw  his  eyes,  heard  his  soft  voice.  And 
he  had  charged  Aunt  Edith  so  earnestly  to  watch  over 
and  care  for  me!  But  it  was  only  sympathy  for  the  waif 
who  had  fallen  to  his  guardianship.  He  was  so  kind,  as 
Ferra  said.  And  if  he  did  not  love  her?  If  he  was  to 
marry  her  because  she  was  a  rich  woman — horrible! 
And  George  and  I,  we  were  helping  on  such  a  deed, 
because  of  the  additional  expense  we  were  to  him.  And 
then  mamma's  debt!  O,  I  could  see  how  it  had  all  come. 
There  was  such  a  long  time  she  could  not  work;  the 
winter  was  at  hand,  coal  and  wood  to  be  bought.  Yes, 
yes,  how  could  she  help  it?  O,  mother,  mother!  better 
that  we  had  frozen,  than  for  Ferra  to  have  that  letter  in 
her  hand  to-day — she  who  never  knew  what  it  was  to 
go  to  bed  cold  and  hungry!  And  how  often  had  my 
poor  mother  done  this!  If  she  had  known  that  an  inmate 
of  Wendhusen  would  have  to  pay  her  indebtedness,  she 
would  rather  have  died  on  the  spot  than  to  have  incurred 
the  obligation.  I  sat  up  in  bed.  "  No,"  I  said,  half 
aloud,  "  I  can  not  bear  it — rather  entire  strangers.  I  can 
support  myself.  Mademoiselle,  with  Ferra,  is  no  stronger 
than  I — she  has  a  situation.  I  must  leave  here;  to  stay 
is  like  death.  Good  as  Gerhardt  is,  I  will  not  have  his 
pity;  I  do  not  need  it." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  225 

Shaking  with  nervousness,  I  got  up,  and  with  trembling 
hands  I  lighted  my  lamp  and  went  into  Aunt  Edith's 
room,  opened  the  newspaper  and  sought  the  advertise- 
ments. A  proud  defiance  had  taken  possession  of  me. 
Dry-eyed  I  glanced  down  the  columns.  There  were 
mostly  women  seeking  places: 

"  A  single,  well-educated  lady  desired  a  situation  as 
agent."  "A  Christian  young  woman  wished  to  devote  her- 
self to  the  care  of  an  invalid."  "  An  old,  experienced 
girl,  as  housekeeper."  And  so  on. 

What  a  host  of  such  that  must  earn  their  daily  bread! 
As  I  was  about  laying  down  the  paper,  my  eyes  fell  on 
the  very  last  notice  in  the  column:  "Wanted,  by  April 
ist,  a  young  girl,  as  governess  to  two  children,  five  and 
six  years  of  age;  must  be  mistress  of  the  French  lan- 
guage, and  have  sufficient  knowledge  of  music  to  be  able 
to  instruct  in  the  first  rudiments,"  et  ccetera. 

By  April  ist!  that  suited  me.  Without  stopping  to 
think,  I  brought  pen  and  ink,  and  wrote.  The  writing  was 
bad,  and  in  my  excitement  I  often  duplicated  my  words 
and  had  to  cross  them  out,  so  it  was  not  a  letter  comme  il 
faut  that  lay  before  me;  but,  in  spite  of  its  defects,  I 
sealed  and  directed  it,  and  hid  it  in  my  commode.  The 
rain  was  pouring  down  in  a  flood  outside,  and  made 
going  to  the  post  impossible,  and  Jette  must  not  see  the 
letter. 

In  a  bitter,  defiant  temper,  I  went  to  bed.  Humiliated 
to  the  core  of  my  heart,  sleepless,  with  aching  head,  I 
lay  upon  the  old,  canopied  bed  and  stared  out  into  the 
darkness.  Stormily  beat  the  blood  in  my  veins,  and  my 
hands  were  fast  locked  one  in  the  other.  I  thought 
over  my  first  coming — how,  the  first  time  I  lay  in  this  bed, 
and  how  often  since  a  dear,  old  face  had  bent  down  to  me 
and  given  me  my  good-night  kiss. 
15 


226  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

Everything  passed  before  my  mental  vision — Char- 
lotte's sweet  friendliness,  and  his  goodness;  the  dear, 
lonely  cloister  garden — and  now  the  time  was  not  far 
distant  when  I  should  desert  it  all! 

O,  I  knew  Aunt  Edith  would  be  sorry  when  I  was 
gone,  and  Charlotte  would  weep,  and  Gerhardt — I  seemed 
to  hear  his  voice:  "  You  are  a  foolish  little  woman,  Lena 
— you  must  not  go."  Then  my  heart  would  cry  out: 
"  I  will  not  have  your  pity,  when  I  believed  I  had  some- 
thing different;  I  can  not  stay  here,  because  I  believed 
you  loved  me,  Gerhardt!  I  can  not  see  you  near  her — 
near  Melanie — who  is  a  thousand  times  better  and 
worthier  than  I.  I  should  die  if  you  demanded  it."  But 
my  mouth  must  be  silent,  and  I  would  go  out  of  this 
house,  an  obstinate,  defiant,  ungrateful  creature,  not 
worthy  that  a  hand  should  be  stretched  out  to  detain 
me.  Yes,  it  was  best  that  I  went  before  he  returned — 
before  I  saw  Charlotte  again. 

O,  now  I  understood  it  all!  Aunt  Edith,  and  Char- 
lotte, and  over  there  that  sick,  fever-tossed  woman — they 
all  had  to  suffer  in  their  love.  Now  I  understood  the 
long  years  of  bitterness  of  Gerhardt's  mother,  and  com- 
prehended how  it  was  that  she  could  not  see  the  woman 
who  was  loved  by  the  man  she  adored.  Was  not  Char- 
lotte, in  comparison  to  me,  a  thousand  times  to  be  envied? 

Toward  morning  I  fell  asleep,  and  was  awakened  by  a 
noise  in  Aunt's  sleeping-room.  At  first  a  heavy  weight 
lay  upon  me.  I  could  not  think  what  it  was;  then  came, 
with  one  blow,  remembrance,  and  with  it  came  back  all 
the  bitterness. 

I  sat  up  in  bed  and  pushed  back  the  hair  from  my 
forehead,  as  Aunt  Edith's  pale  face  appeared  in  the 
door-way. 

"  Now,  Lena,  I  must  scold  you  to-day,"  she  said,  es 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  227 

nestly;  "you  did  not  feed  the  cats;  the  beasts  literally 
fell  upon  me.  Where  were  your  thoughts,  child?" 

She  came  toward  the  bed  as  she  spoke,  and  looked  at 
me. 

"  Are  you  ill?"  she  said,  anxiously,  and  seized  my  hot 
hands. 

I  shook  my  head;  "O  no,  quite  well,  Auntie  dear;" 
but  I  felt  a  leaden  weight  in  my  limbs,  and  no  desire  to 
move. 

"  Things  are  very  bad,  yonder,  Magdalena,"  said  Aunt 
Edith,  observing  me  anxiously  meanwhile.  "I  came 
over  to  put  on  a  more  comfortable  dress.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  get  any  rest  all  night.  She  has  talked  and 
screamed  for  hours  at  a  time.  Tina  and  Sister  Agnes 
could  hardly  hold  her  in  bed;  she  was  determined  to  go 
to  Robert." 

Aunt  Edith  brushed  two  great  drops  from  her  eyes. 

"  Now,  pray  heaven  that  you  may  not  be  ill,  my  dar- 
ling. Ah,  God!  if  only  her  strength  will  hold  out  till 
Gerhardt  comes!  The  dispatch  left  at  dawn  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  The  dispatch!  Gerhardt  coming?"  I  cried,  and,  as  if 
electrified,  I  sprang  out  of  bed. 

"Lena!  Lena!  you  are  ill?"  asserted  Aunt  Edith,  and 
helped  my  trembling  hands  to  put  on  my  dress. 

"  No,  no,  Aunt;  when  can  he  be  here?" 

"Day  after  to-morrow  evening,  child." 

"  Day  after  to-morrow  evening!" 

I  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  Auntie,"  I  said,  reassuringly,  to  the 
old  lady;  "rely  upon  that,  and  do  not  be  anxious.  Go 
over,  and  I  will  come  to  and  fro,  and  ask  how  matters 
are." 

She   went.     Meditating,    I  sat  in  my  room.     Minka 


228  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

came  over  to  me  and  looked  at  me,  mewing,  and 
rubbed  herself  against  my  dress.  She  felt  no  resent- 
ment because  I  had  let  her  go  hungry.  Two  poor 
women  came  for  their  weekly  allowance.  With  a  half 
side  glance,  one  said: 

"  She  be  grievin'  hersel'  for  the  Frau  that  be  nearer 
dead  than  alive.  Yesterday  there  be  a  warnin' — the  glass 
fell  from  the  nail." 

And  the  other  nodded  her  head  confirmingly.  Every- 
thing on  that  day  remains  in  my  remembrance,  even  that 
little  scene. 

At  noon  I  went  over  to  the  villa,  but  in  a  roundabout 
way,  by  way  of  the  town.  A  moment  I  lingered  at  the 
letter-box;  the  letter  deciding  my  fate  glided  in.  I  had 
not  given  my  address,  but  that  of  Christiana.  When 
the  answer  came,  I  would  no  longer  be  here. 

As  I  stepped  through  the  avenue  that  led  directly  to 
the  villa,  I  saw,  on  the  gravel  plat,  two  horses  being  led 
around — on  one  a  lady's  saddle — and  the  groom  that 
walked  between  the  beasts  threw,  now  and  then,  shy 
glances  to  the  windows  of  the  upper  story.  I  felt  a 
clutch  at  my  heart.  Surely,  Melanie  von  Stelten  was 
here  to  inquire  after  Gerhardt's  mother — her  Gerhardt; 
and  then,  in  another  moment,  I  saw  her  with  Ferra,  arm 
in  arm,  going  slowly  around  the  grass  plat.  Ferra's 
head  was  lowered,  and  Melanie  appeared  to  be  talking 
confidentially  with  her.  The  green  veil  of  her  little  hat 
fluttered  wantonly  about  the  fine  face,  which  to-day 
had  the  coloring  of  the  apple-blossom. 

"  Do  not  lose  courage,  dearest  Ferra;  the  dear  God  can 
yet  help,"  she  said,  her  clear  voice  reaching  me  dis- 
tinctly, "even  to  the  last  moment." 

I  followed  the  path  on  the  other  side  of  the  circle,  and 
reached  the  house  without  their  observing  me. 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  229 

At  my  question,  "How  is  she?"  they  said,  "Worse 
— very  critical!" 

What  could  I  do?  I  turned,  and  went  out  of  the 
opposite  door.  Here  stood,  in  summer,  the  orangery 
around  the  small  marble  basin  before  the  entrance. 
Charlotte's  window  overlooked  the  spot,  and  from  there 
the  eye  could  rove  far  over  the  trees  of  the  park,  away 
to  the  mountains,  beyond  which  lay  Folkerode.  I 
remained  standing.  What  would  come  of  it  all  to  those 
two?  How  could  they  weather  life  with  that  everlasting 
longing  in  their  hearts?  But  they  knew,  at  least,  they 
had  each  other's  love;  they  had  read  it  in  each  other's 
eyes;  their  lips  had  spoken  it — and  I? 

"  So  deep  in  thought,  Fraulein  von  Demphoff?"  asked 
a  clear  voice. 

I  started;  there  she  stood,  the  charming  face  looking 
so  kindly  at  me. 

"  Did  you  know  an  answer  had  come  from  your 
cousin?  He  expects  to  be  here  to-morrow  evening;  it 
will  be  making  very  quick  time.  Ferra  has  just  carried 
the  dispatch  up  to  Frau  Berka.  Thank  heaven,  he  is 
coming,  for  Ferra  would  surely  have  lost  her  head  if 
the  worst  had  happened." 

She  looked  sad  as  she  spoke  these  words,  and  her 
eyes  were  moist. 

"  I  have  a  great  respect  for  that  poor,  sick  woman  up 
there,"  she  continued,  "  so  strong  and  severe,  holding 
herself  so  aloof  from  those  who  would  approach  her, 
and  yet  her  native  goodness  of  heart  discernible 
through  it  all.  She  has  the  same  pure-gold,  honorable 
character  as  Gerhardt  Demphoff." 

"Yes,  Gerhardt  is  very  good,"  I  said,  lightly. 

"Only  good?"  she  returned,  laughing;  "more  than 
that,  Fraulein  von  Demphoff — a  thousand  times  more.  I 


230  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

have  known  him  ever  since  I  can  remember.  He  is  a 
man  with  few  equals,  honest,  faithful — a  true  nobleman, 
as  he  should  be;  at  the  same  time,  with  a  tenderness,  a 
gentleness — if  you  had  seen  his  care  of  Charlotte  in 
Italy!" 

"O,  I  know  it,  Fraulein  von  Stelten,"  I  interrupted; 
"  no  one  has  more  reason  to  extol  his  goodness  than  my 
brother  and  I." 

The  young  lady  looked  down  at  me  with  a  peculiar 
expression  in  her  eyes.  I  had  spoken  the  words  in  a 
tone  new  to  her.  She  did  not  reply,  but  occupied  her- 
self with  pushing  a  little  stone  about  on  the  granite 
steps  with  her  riding-whip. 

"Are  you  not  glad  that  Charlotte  is  coming  back 
again?"  she  asked,  finally. 

"Yes,  indeed,  if  only  the  occasion  were  less  sad.  I 
feel  so  sorry  for  her.  In  what  anxiety  she  is  traveling 
now!" 

"  There  is  a  dark  shadow  over  Wendhusen/'  said 
Melanie  von  Stelten;  "for  years  there  has  been  no 
pleasure  there.  O,  I  have  shared  it  all!  First,  the  death 
of  the  old  gentleman;  then,  Gerhardt's  long,  long  illness; 
Ferra's  unhappy  marriage  with  Riedingen,  and  his  sud- 
den death;  the  terrible  misfortune  of  Joachim — "  (great 
tears  stood  in  the  sweet,  brown  eyes),  "  and  to-day  or 
to-morrow  the  mother  may  die." 

She  sat  down  on  one  of  the  broad  blocks  which 
formed  the  support  of  the  railing  of  the  steps,  and  held, 
in  summer,  the  tubs  of  orange  and  pomegranate  trees. 

"  She  loves  him!"  kept  ringing  in  my  heart,  and  I 
walked  past  her  down  the  steps.  There  was  such  keen 
sorrow  in  my  breast,  I  longed  to  be  alone.  At  the  bend 
of  the  path  I  turned  around.  She  still  sat  there,  and 
was  following  me  with  her  gaze.  She  looked  indescrib- 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  231 

ably  charming,  with  the  graceful  poise  of  the  fine  head. 
That  I  was  unhappy,  was  no  fault  of  hers. 

"For  shame,  Lena!  how  hateful  you  are!"  I  scolded 
myself,  and  went  back  to  her. 

"  Forgive  me,  Fraulein  von  Stelten;  I  was  rude,  and 
forgot  to  say  adieu." 

She  seized  my  offered  hand,  and  held  it  close  in  her 
own. 

"  Adieu,  Fraulein  Magdalena!  It  is  only  natural  that 
one  in  such  hours  should  have  no  thought  for  every-day 
things.  I  must  also  go  home.  I  will  come  again  this 
evening,  I  live  so  near." 

I  walked  away,  not  to  the  cloister,  but  far  into  the 
park.  It  was  a  spring  day,  so  warm  and  golden,  so 
cloudless  and  blue,  that  one  could  think  all  the  buds  of 
the  trees  must  burst  forth  at  one  time,  and  spread  them- 
selves as  a  green  veil  over  the  woods.  High  above  in 
the  blue  air  flew  a  bird  of  prey;  ever  higher  and  higher 
he  drew  his  circle,  till  at  last  he  swam  as  a  mere  speck 

in  the  ether. 

' '  There  flew  a  wild  falcon 
High  above  me  away!" 

Sounded  in  my  ear — Charlotte's  song!  How  happy 
she  was  when  she  sang  it,  and  yet  her  happiness  had 
flown  away  like  the  falcon;  it  seemed  as  if  fair  fortune 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  Wendhusen  and  the  peo- 
ple who  dwelt  there. 

A  luminous  green  shimmer  lay  over  the  grass,  and 
under  the  trees  grew  all  kinds  of  pretty  wild  things — 
leaves  of  the  wood-sorrel,  anemones,  and  the  white 
blooms  of  the  wild  snowbells,  with  their  gold-colored 
tips.  How  wonderful  a  spring  here  must  be! 

Could  George  come  here  if  I  went  away?  O,  surely; 
I  would  write  to  Gerhardt  and  ask  him;  but  I  must  go 


232  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

away  before  he  returned — to-morrow!  I  would  go  to 
Christiana.  I  had  enough  money  for  my  traveling 
expenses.  But  how  to  go  the  long  distance  to  the  rail- 
road station? — Gottlieb? 

He  brought  me  here;  he  would  do  it,  possibly.  I 
could  beg  him  to  do  so;  I  must  find  some  excuse — 
George  is  ill?  God  forbid! — I  retracted  my  sinful  lie. 
No,  I  know  not  what,  but  something  would  suggest 
itself;  only  I  must  go  away  from  here  at  any  price. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

And  again  a  night  was  past,  and  a  new  day;  and 
deeper  sank  the  black  shadow  of  death  over  the  hcuse 
in  the  park.  I  did  not  see  Aunt  Edith  when  I  went 
over  at  twilight  to  inquire. 

On  the  upper  step  of  the  stairway  sat  Ferra,  weeping, 
with  her  child  asleep  in  her  lap. 

"O,  Lena!"  she  cried,  and  caught  hold  of  my  dress, 
"  I  am  so  afraid  down  there  in  my  rooms!  I  am  not 
superstitious,  but  to  be  so  alone,  and  to  know  mamma  is 
dying!  And  there  hangs  Riedingen's  picture,  and  there 
Joachim's!  I  implore  you,  stay  with  me!"  Ferra  had  a 
wonderful  talent  of  being  able  with  one  word  to  blot 
out  entirely  a  bad  impression.  Mechanically,  I  allowed 
myself  to  be  drawn  down  by  her  side  and  listen  to 
her  sobs. 

And  so  we  sat  side  by  side;  she  had  my  hand  fast  in 
her  own,  and  the  child  lay  asleep  on  her  lap.  The  serv- 
ants went  to  and  fro  noiselessly;  they  were  putting 
Gerhardt's  and  Charlotte's  rooms  in  order.  Finally, 
Mademoiselle  was  called,  and  the  little  boy  handed  over 
to  her  care;  Ferra  wanted  to  take  a  look  into  the  rooms 
herself. 

"  Soon  everything  will  be  changed  here,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  I  do  not  think  my  brother  will  remain  here,  in 
case  the  dear  God  should  take  mamma  from  us;  he  will 
move  into  the  old  manor  house." 

"  Even  if  Gerhardt  should  marry,  Ferra?" 

(233) 


234  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

She  turned  around  and  looked  at  me  with  an  almost 
frightened  look. 

"  O  yes;  you  are  right,"  she  replied,  as  if  recollecting 
herself;  "one  forgets  in  such  dark  days  all  else  but  the 
one  great  fact;"  and,  turning  to  the  servant  who  came 
out  from  the  sick-room,  she  asked: 

"  How  is  she,  Tina?" 

"  She  is  just  alive,  gracious  Frau,"  said  the  girl,  begin- 
ning to  weep.  "  She  neither  hears  nor  feels  anything 
more.  Ah,  it  is  too  dreadful!" 

Involuntarily,  I  clasped  my  hands.  "  Dear  God,"  I 
begged,  "bring  her  back  to  health;  let  her  yet  know  joy 
in  life.  After  such  hard,  sorrowful  discipline,  give  her 
happiness." 

Ferra  began  walking  up  and  down  the  corridor,  crying 
and  wringing  her  hands.  "  O,  my  God!  my  God!  This 
excitement  will  kill  me!  O,  if  it  were  only  over!"  There 
was  something  childish  and  disagreeable  in  her  noisy  grief. 

And  again  another  morning's  sun  shone  into  the  sick- 
room, and  there  was  no  change  in  the  condition  of  the 
suffering  woman.  A  dispatch  had  come  from  Gerhardt, 
directing  that  the  carriage  be  sent  to  the  mid-day  train. 
I  went  back  to  the  cloister.  I  had  had  Aunt  Edith 
called  out,  and  had  cried  on  her  neck.  She  had  com- 
forted me  in  her  tender  way.  She  did  not  know  for 
what  cause  I  was  so  inconsolable. 

Then  I  saw  from  my  window  the  carriage  return  which 
brought  the  brother  and  sister,  and  both  faces  scanned 
our  windows  as  they  flew  past.  I  stood  behind  the  cur- 
tains, and  as  the  carriage  vanished  from  my  sight,  I 
buried  my  face  in  my  hands,  and  a  wild,  hot  pain  seized 
me.  Could  I  go  from  here?  Had  I  the  strength?  Was 
it  not  beyond  me,  after  all?  No,  I  must  go!  I  must  not 
be  weak!  And  with  trembling  hands  I  put  some  things 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  235 

in  the  traveling-bag  that  I  once  before  had  packed  with 
such  a  heavy  heart  to  come  here.  After  the  sun  had  set 
I  called  Jette  and  sent  her  for  Gottlieb.  The  old  man 
looked  at  me  in  surprise  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  What  was  it  you  wished,  Fraulein?"  he  asked,  sym- 
pathetically, as  he  saw  my  wet  eyes. 

I  went  close  up  to  him  and  laid  my  head  on  his 
rough  cloth  coat. 

"  Gottlieb,  you  have  always  been  good  to  me,"  I 
began,  and  again  the  tears  overflowed. 

"  Yes,  little  one,  I  have  tried  to  be  so  from  the  first 
hour  when  I  saw  you  peering  about  so  timid  and  help- 
less at  the  station;  and  I  said  to  myself,  there  and  then, 
that  I  would  have  an  eye  on  that  little  doll.  That  is 
true,  gracious  Fraulein,  and  so  I  have  always  looked 
after  you." 

I  nodded. 

"  And,  Gottlieb,  to-day  you  must  take  me  away  again," 
I  stammered.  "  I  must  go  to  B — .  I  have  received  a 
letter  to-day,  but  no  one  must  know  of  it,  Gottlieb! 
Remember,  this  evening  at  8  o'clock.  You  can  wait  at 
the  corner  of  the  park;  you  need  not  drive  to  the  door." 

"Thunder  and  bombshells!  Fraulein,  that — don't  take 
it  amiss — but  this  is  strange!"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
and  bent  over  to  look  in  my  face. 

I  turned  my  head  away. 

"  It  is  nothing  wrong,  Gottlieb,"  I  protested.  "  O, 
do  not  refuse  me,  I  beg!" 

"Well,  well!"  he  grumbled.  "What  business  have  I 
to  question?  But — 'hm — you  know,  Fraulein,  how  it 
went  with  me  once  before." 

"  O,  but  that  was  something  quite  different,  dear 
Gottlieb,  truly!  My  guardian  wishes  me  to  come  to 
him,"  I  stuttered. 


236  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  Very  well,  I  will  not  fail  you,  Fraulein,  but — 'hm — 8 
o'clock,  at  the  corner  of  the  park?  Great  heavens? 
exactly  as  it  was  before!"  he  muttered,  shaking  his  head 
as  he  left  the  room. 

I  ran  after  him  into  the  corridor. 

"  Gottlieb,  do  you  know  how  it  is  over  there?"  I  asked, 
anxiously. 

"Bad,  very  bad,  Fraulein, "he  answered,  in  alow  voice. 
"  Ah,  heavens!  how  it  grieved  me  to  see  Fraulein  Char- 
lotte! She  will  not  leave  the  bed;  she  moans  and  prays 
the  dear  God  not  to  take  too  much  from  her." 

I  went  back.     It  seemed  to  me  my  heart  would  break. 

Whence  do  tears  come?  and  what  a  magic  they  exer- 
cise! 

Around  each  piece  of  furniture  in  the  comfortable  old 
room  that  I  saw  through  a  mist  of  tears  was  woven  a 
silver  sheen;  never  before  had  everything  seemed  so 
beautiful,  so  dear,  as  now.  It  seemed  to  me  I  could 
not  leave  it  all,  as  if  I  were  being  driven  out  of  Paradise. 

I  stood  before  the  empty  window-place,  Aunt  Edith's 
corner,  and  lovingly  touched  and  said  good-bye  to  the 
old-fashioned  sewing  utensils  and  trifles  that  her  hands 
had  so  often  used.  I  poured  fresh  milk  in  the  saucers  of 
her  pets,  and  gave  drink  to  the  flowers — I  never  should 
see  them  again. 

Then  it  dawned  upon  me,  I  must  write  to  Aunt  Edith, 
that  she  should  not  seek  for  me  in  vain.  Hesitatingly, 
I  took  up  my  pen.  I  found  it  difficult  at  first  to  know 
how  to  justify  my  intention.  Finally  the  note  was  fin- 
ished, and  I  pushed  it  under  the  pin-cushion;  and  then  I 
sat  and  waited  for  the  dark. 

With  crimson  hues  sank  the  sun  to  rest,  filling  the 
room  with  rosy  light.  The  clock  on  the  chimney-piece 
struck  seven;  one  more  hour  under  this  roof!  And  on  it 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  237 

ticked,  stringing  seconds  to  minutes;  unceasingly  moved 
the  pointer  slowly  round  the  circle. 

"I  can  not  go!"  I  wailed  to  myself.  "You  must! 
You  must!"  ticked  the  clock;  and  Melanie's  lovely  face 
rose  up  before  me,  her  soft  eyes  looked  into  mine.  "  He 
is  so  good,  so  noble!"  whispered  her  lips.  No,  I  would 
not  see  him  again.  I  would  not  be  so  unhappy  as  that 
dying  woman  over  there  had  been  made  in  her  love. 

The  clock  struck  eight;  it  was  almost  dark.  I  sprang 
up  and  put  on  my  hat  and  mantle,  and,  with  my  travel- 
ing-bag in  my  hand,  I  hurried  out  of  the  room.  In  the 
corridor  I  stopped;  Minka  had  followed  me;  I  picked 
her  up,  and  pressed  my  wet  eyes  in  the  soft,  velvety  fur; 
then  I  carried  her  back  into  the  room. 

With  double  haste  I  flew  down  the  stairs.  I  met  no 
one  on  my  way.  A  cool  breeze  struck  my  face  outside, 
and  with  a  shiver  I  drew  my  wrap  about  me. 

There,  in  the  gloom,  I  recognized  the  wagon,  and  Gott- 
lieb stood  waiting,  as  agreed  upon.  It  was  his  old,  tired 
horse;  it  was  the  same  rickety  vehicle  in  which  I  came, 
long  months  ago.  I  climbed  in;  slowly  moved  on  the 
beast,  and  slowly  the  old  cloister  disappeared  behind  me, 
and  with  it  everything — everything! 

How  slowly  the  wagon  rolled  on!  The  wheels  creaked 
and  groaned.  If  we  could  only  get  out  of  the  park  unseen ! 

"Gottlieb,  drive  faster!"  I  begged,  trembling  in  every 
limb.  I  felt  as  if  we  were  committing  a  crime. 

"  But,  Friiulein,  the  poor  old  rascal  has  been  in  the  field 
all  day,  and  is  tired." 

I  bent  far  out.  There  blinked  to  me  the  lights  from  the 
windows  in  the  villa;  there  a  soul  was  loosing  itself  from 
a  weak  body;  there  were  tears  and  prayers!  In  such 
sorrow  they  would  not  miss  me — not  even  Aunt  Edith 
and  Charlotte. 


238  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

And  as  the  windows  were  lost  in  the  distance  behind 
me,  and  I  looked  out  into  the  dark  night,  a  wild,  rebell- 
ious feeling  filled  my  heart.  No,  no,  I  can  not  go!  I 
stretched  my  arms  out  to  Gottlieb,  but  no  sound  came 
to  my  lips. 

"  Halt!"  said  a  well-known  voice  near  me. 

The  horse  stopped  instantly,  and  a  tall,  dark  figure 
opened  the  carriage  door. 

"  Get  out,  Magdalena,"  it  said,  quietly. 

A  hand  clasped  mine.  Devoid  of  will,  I  obeyed  the 
command. 

"Turn  around,  Gottlieb,"  said  Gerhardt,  at  the  same 
time  putting  his  arm  around  me  and  holding  me  close 
to  him.  Motionless,  he  remained  so  until  the  carriage 
turned,  and,  much  quicker  than  it  came,  disappeared 
around  the  bend  of  the  road. 

And  now  we  stood  alone  at  the  entrance  to  the  park. 
My  tears  had  ceased  to  flow.  I  hid  my  face  in  my 
hands — how  I  felt  at  that  moment  I  can  not  describe. 

"  Magdalena!"  came  low  and  sweet  in  my  ear,  "  was  it 
right  of  you  now,  just  at  this  time,  to  wish  to  desert  me? 
Could  this  same  mouth  give  the  command  for  departure 
that  once  spoke  so  sweetly  of  a  love  that,  in  need  and 
death,  in  pain  and  joy,  would  be  steadfast?" 

"O,  Gerhardt,  Gerhardt!"  I  stammered.  "I — leave 
me! — what  would — she — Melanie " 

"Magdalena!"  he  bent  down  to  me;  "who  has  been 
talking  to  you?" 

I  did  not  answer. 

"Child,  have  you  not  felt  that  my  whole  heart 
remained  with  you  in  Wendhusen? — with  you,  Magda- 
lena? And  yet  you  have  believed  that  I " 

"No,  no!"  I  cried  out,  in  rapturous  joy,  and  threw  my 
arms  around  the  neck  of  my  lover.  "  I  believe  nothing 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  239 

more,  only  that  I  love  you — that  I  must  have  died  had 
I  gone  away!" 

And  around  us  blew  the  night  wind.  It  came  down 
from  the  mountains,  and  went  rollicking  through  the 
park,  shaking  the  high,  old  trees,  and  murmuring  in  the 
budding  branches.  The  air  seemed  full  of  a  spring 
melody — a  song  of  gratitude  that  the  hard  winter  was 
past,  that  an  unending  fullness  of  joy  had  come  to  a 
suffering  human  heart.  My  soul  joined  in  that  hymn  of 
praise,  now  his  arm  held  me  so  firm  and  close  as  if  he 
nevermore  would  let  me  go  from  him. 

It  was  spring  in  my  heart,  and  many  and  beautiful 
were  the  flowers  that  bloomed  there,  and  they  twined 
themselves  into  a  single  wreath  around  Gerhardt — 
around  my  Gerhardt! 

Then,  suddenly,  with  fear,  I  looked  up. 

"  Your  mother,  Gerhardt?"  I  whispered. 

"She  is  asleep,  Magdalena,"  he  replied.  "This  is  a 
red-letter  day,  to-day.  Just  at  the  moment  when  Gott- 
lieb came  to  inform  me  of  your  plan  of  flight,  she  sank 
into  a  refreshing  sleep,  and  Sister  Agnes  sent  us  all  from 
the  room,  else  I  must  have  let  my  little  brown  maiden 
be  carried  away — alone  into  the  wide  world!" 

"God  be  praised!"  I  cried,  from  a  full  heart;  "but  it 
was  nevertheless  very  disloyal  of  Gottlieb  to  have " 

"  Peace!  From  to-day  no  harm  shall  ever  come  to 
the  old  man;  he  shall  have  a  position  of  trust  in  my 
new  household.  But,  now,  tell  me  who  told  you  about 
Melanie  von  Stelten?" 

"  Ferra,  Gerhardt.  She  said  you  were  betrothed  to 
her  in  Italy;  because  you  were  so  embarrassed  financially, 
you  felt  compelled  to  marry  her,  and " 

"  Go  on,"  he  said;  "  the  confession  must  be  complete." 

"And   George  and  I — she   inferred   that  we  were  a 


240  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

great  care  upon  you;  and  then,  the  letter  from  my  guard- 
ian— O,  Gerhardt,  believe  me,  mamma  was  not  friv- 
olous' O,  I  was  full  of  grief  and  shame  that,  on  our 
account,  you  should " 

"  And  Ferra  told  you  all  that?"  he  asked,  "  and  also 
of  the  letter?" 

"  O,  Gerhardt,  I  have  seen  it,  and  it  asked  for  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thalers!"  I  cried,  anxiously,  and  sought  to 
read  his  face.  It  seemed  to  me  really  as  if  he  were 
smiling. 

"  And  so  you  were  going  away,  in  order,  if  possible, 
to  reimburse  me  for  the  large  sum?  And  you  and 
George  were  to  go  through  life  independent  of  me,  so  I 
should  have  one  burden  the  less?" 

I  nodded.  "Yes,  Gerhardt;  but  also  because " 

"Well,  because?" 

"  I  could  not  have  borne  to  see  you  near  another." 

He  did  not  answer;  his  lips  pressed  themselves  close 
on  my  mouth. 

"  I  was  very  cautious,"  he  said,  then,  "  for  I  knew  what 
would  happen  in  case  Ferra  knew  my  secret.  I  only 
wrote  once  to  my  little  Magdalena,  and  yet — speak,  had 
she  no  presentiment?" 

I  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  No,  no,  Gerhardt;  I  scarcely  knew  myself  if  I  were 
dear  to  you;  and  then — she  was  not  here."  As  I  spoke, 
I  remembered  his  letter.  "Anna  saw  how  I  received  your 
letter,  and  that  I  kissed  it." 

"  Were  you  so  incautious  as  that?"  he  asked,  playfully. 
"  Now,  I  know  enough;  tell  me  only,  you  imprudent, 
credulous  little  woman  how  could  you  believe  all  that 
you  have  been  telling  me,  after  the  parting  I  took  from 
you?" 

"  O,  Gerhardt,  I  did  not  understand  it,"  I  said,  hon- 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  241 

estly;  "  but  I  thought,  because  you  were  my  cousin " 

Now  he  laughed. 

"  No,  sweetheart,  I  was  very  far  from  a  cousinly  feel- 
ing at  that  moment,  I  assure  you." 

"But,"  I  said,  suddenly,  "  I  believe  that  Melanie  von 
Stelten  loves  you!" 

"  No,  Magdalena,"  he  replied,  earnestly,  "  not  as  you 
think;  she  has  the  place  of  a  sister  with  me.  Ask  her 
what  she  confessed  to  me  in  Italy.  I  have  talked  to  her 
the  entire  day  only  of  you,  and  she  listened  patiently  to 
everything.  She  would  have  married  Joachim,  and  he — 
he,  in  his  extremity,  and  not  till  then,  offered  himself  to 
her,  just  a  short  time  before  his  death.  She  has  no 
parents,  Lena,  and  she  came  to  me  for  counsel.  She 
had  already  heard  much  against  Joachim;  but  in  spite  of 
that  she  would  have  accepted  him  if  she  had  felt 
she  could  have  been  a  help  to  him  morally.  I  warned 
her,  and  painted  to  her  what  the  future  would  be.  She 
had  come  to  me — I  could  not  let  her  risk  her  happiness; 
she  knew  well  that  I  had  her  interests  at  heart.  I  have 
known  her  since  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  have  always 
stood  ready  to  help  her  at  any  time  with  counsel  and 
deed.  See,  that  is  all." 

Yes;  now  I  understood  Melanie's  enthusiastic  praise: 
"How  good  and  true  he  was!" 

"  Gerhardt,"  I  whispered,  "you  are  much  too  good  for 
me;  I  am  so " 

"Willful,"  he  finished.  "Depend  upon  it,  we  shall 
tame  that  defiant,  little  heart  yet." 

"  Yes,  I  will  be  better,  Gerhardt;  but  now,  one  thing 
more:  Your  mother — will  she  accept  me?" 

"  So  soon  as  she  is  well,  which  God  grant  may  be  soon, 
you  shall  receive  the  answer  from  herself;  but,  to  set 
your  heart  at  rest,  I  will  tell  you  what  she  wrote  me  in 

16 


242  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

the  last  letter  before  she  was  taken  ill:  'I  say  yes  with 
my  whole  heart,  Gerhardt;  more  and  more  I  see  how 
embittered  I  was.  What  had  the  poor  child  done  to  me, 
that  I  should  have  been  so  harsh  to  her?  Bring  her  to  me, 
Gerhardt — I  will  make  everything  right  if  God  spares  my 
life.  My  only  longing  in  this  world  is  to  know  my 
children  are  happy — happier  than  Edith  and  I  have 
been.'  " 

We  walked  on,  heeding  not  the  light  spring  rain.  I 
was  now  eager  to  see  Charlotte  again. 

"  Gerhardt,"  I  asked  once  more,  as  we  stood  before 
the  lighted  vestibule  of  the  villa,  and  I  could  see  quite 
clearly  his  dear  face  in  the  pale  light,  "  Gerhardt,  tell  me 
truly,  and  is  it  no  dream?" 

"  No,  Magdalena,  it  is  reality,"  he  replied,  looking  with 
infinite  tenderness  into  my  eyes. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  parted  from  me,  and  said: 

"Go  up  to  Charlotte,  Lena;  I  will  come  after  you  very 
soon." 

Surprised,  I  turned  around;  there  was  a  stern  look  in 
his  face. 

"Gerhardt!"  I  cried,  "you  are  going  to  Ferra;youare 
angry  with  her!" 

"  Only  a  few  words,  Lena;  go  up,  they  will  be  soon 
said." 

"No,  no,  dear  Gerhardt!"  I  entreated.  "She  did  not 
mean  to  do  harm.  O,  do  not  say  angry  words  to  her 
to-day,  Gerhardt,  only  not  to-day." 

"  I  never  was  in  a  milder  temper,  Lena,  than  in  this 
hour,  and  therefore  do  not  hinder  me,"  he  said,  decidedly. 
"  It  is  best  to  free  the  heart  while  the  deed  is  fresh,  and 
I  will  not  be  a  severe  judge  to  her,  for  your  sake,  Mag- 
dalena. I  promise  you  that,  but  there  is  much  that  must 
be  made  clear  between  us." 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  243 

"  Gerhardt,  I  implore  you,"  I  pleaded,  "  forget  what 
she  did!" 

But  already  he  had  let  my  hand  fall  with  a  light  press- 
ure, and  I  saw  him  enter  Ferra's  room. 

A  moment  I  lingered,  listening  with  half  fear;  then  I 
hurried  up  the  stairs  and  knocked  on  Charlotte's  door. 

"Come  in!"  called  a  dear,  beloved  voice,  and  the  next 
moment  we  were  in  each  other's  arms.  It  was  dark  in  the 
familiar  room;  I  could  not  see  her  face  distinctly,  but  I 
stroked,  with  loving  touch,  her  soft  cheeks  and  fluffy 
hair. 

"  Dear  Charlotte — Lottchen — is  it  surely  yourself?" 

"Yes,  my  Lena,  the  very  same — your  old  Charlotte; 
and  you?" 

I  hid  my  face  on  her  breast;  no,  I  was  no  more  the 
same.  The  whole  blessed  weight  of  happiness  pressed 
to  my  lips,  and  yet  I  was  silent.  How  could  I  tell  her 
of  a  joy  that  she  had  lost!  I  only  pressed  her  closer 
to  me.  Then  I  felt  a  kiss  on  my  forehead.  She  freed 
herself  from  my  arms,  and  in  the  next  moment  she  stood 
on  the  little  balcony. 

"  Charlotte!"  I  called,  softly,  hastening  after  her;  but 
she  did  not  hear.  In  the  pale  starlight  of  the  spring 
night  I  saw  her  face,  pale  and  intense,  directed  to  the 
distant  mountains,  her  hands  close  folded  over  her 
breast.  The  breeze  blew  the  light  scarf  from  her  head; 
she  did  not  notice  it;  but  it  carried  a  greeting  into  the 
far  distance. 

"  Robert!  Robert!"  I  heard  her  murmur.  I  would  not 
disturb  her,  and  so  we  stood  a  long,  long  time.  There 
sounded  suddenly  loud  talking  from  the  corridor  below; 
anxiously  I  went  back  into  the  room  and  listened.  Some- 
one pressed  on  the  latch  of  the  door,  and  it  opened  a 
little. 


244  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

"  My  betrothed  is  with  Charlotte,"  I  heard  Gerhardt's 
voice.  How  naturally  he  said  it,  as  if  I  had  been  his 
betrothed  for  a  very  long  time. 

I  pressed  my  hands  to  my  temples — then  it  really 
was  no  dream? 

Then  the  door  opened;  the  bright  lamplight  streamed 
in — and  Ferra  stood  before  me.  The  door  remained 
open,  and  Gerhardt  walked  quickly  to  me,  and  said,  put- 
ting his  arm  around  me: 

"  Ferra  has  come  to  welcome  you  as  sister,  Magdalena." 

I  looked  at  her,  and  a  deep  pity  took  possession  of 
me,  for  the  lips  that  forced  themselves  with  difficulty  to 
smile  were  pale  as  death,  and  the  hands  that  were 
stretched  toward  me  trembled.  She  did  not  speak  as  I 
laid  my  hands  in  hers  for  a  moment,  but  the  beautiful 
head  held  itself  as  proudly  as  ever. 

"  Ferra  intends  to  desert  Wendhusen  for  a  long  time," 
said  Gerhardt,  as  simply  and  naturally  as  if  there  had 
been  only  the  most  friendly  relations  between  them.  "It 
has  long  been  an  ardent  desire  of  hers  to  see  Italy,  and 
so  soon  as  mamma  is  entirely  out  of  danger,  she  will  set 
out  on  the  journey." 

"  I  think  in  the  coming  week,"  came  low  from  her  lips. 
"Will  you  excuse  me,  Gerhardt,  if  I  go  back?  I  have  a 
headache,  and " 

He  reached  his  hand  to  her,  but  she  turned  around 
abruptly,  and  the  next  moment  the  door  closed  behind 
her  and  darkness  reigned  again  in  the  room. 

"  O,  Gerhardt,"  I  cried,  "  how  sorry  I  am  for  her!" 

"She  is  much  to  be  pitied,  Magdalena,  for  she  will 
nowhere  find  peace,  not  even  in  the  world  where  she  so 
longs  to  be;  but  I  hope  when  she  comes  back  that — that 
she  will  have  learned  to ,  understand  the  love  she  now 
disdains.  But  where  is  Lottchen?" 


CLOISTER   WENDHUSEN.  245 

"  Here,"  answered  a  soft  voice  near  us.  "  I  will  light 
the  lamp  to  see  the  little  betrothed,  Gerhardt."  And  as 
the  beams  fell  on  her  sweet  face  there  played  a  smile 
around  the  sensitive  mouth. 

"  O  no,  no,  brother,"  she  whispered,  as  he  drew  her 
hastily  to  him  and  looked  lovingly  into  the  tearful  eyes; 
"  no,  no,  I  am  not  envious.  God  bless  you  and  your 
happiness!" 

As  the  night  came  on,  the  storm  outside  ceased,  the 
heavens  looked  down,  studded  with  stars;  and  deep 
peace  lay  over  Wendhusen.  Aunt  Edith  sat  on  her  sofa 
in  the  sitting-room  of  the  old  cloister.  She  could  now 
leave  the  sick-room,  for  the  crisis  was  past,  and  the 
invalid  had  fallen  into  a  deep,  health-giving  sleep. 

Aunt  Edith  held  my  note  of  farewell  in  her  hand,  and 
her  shining  eyes  rested  on  Gerhardt  and  me,  as  we  stood 
together  before  her 

"  O,  dearest,  truest  Auntie,"  I  cried,  kneeling  down 
before  her,  "  can  you  realize  that  I  am  Gerhardt's 
betrothed?  Are  you  not  surprised?" 

"  Bless  the  foolish  child!  Did  I  not  long  ago  see  that 
he  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  my  little  gypsy 
girl?" 

Gerhardt  did  not  reply  to  her;  he  had  gone  to  the  fire- 
place and  thrown  a  paper  in  the  flames.  I  recognized 
the  peculiar  form  of  the  letters;  it  was  the  paper  Gott- 
lieb had  found  in  Joachim's  room  a  few  days  before. 

"There!"  he  said,  "that  will  never  more  remind  us 
that  there  are  people  who  think  I  have  no  claim  in  all 
the  world  on  happiness." 

"We  will  soon  be  alone  again,  Minka,"  said  Aunt 
Edith,  lightly,  and  stroked  the  white  fur  of  her  favorite, 
who  had  leaped  on  the  arm  of  the  sofa.  "  There,  look 
at  her,  that  faithless  maiden,  how  she  beams  with  happi- 


246  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

ness!  All  the  tenderness  that  formerly  we  both  used  to 
have,  Minka,  she  squanders  now  on  him;  but  we  have 
known  for  a  long  time — haven't  we? — that  we  should  not 
be  able  to  keep  her." 

"You,  dearest!"  I  whispered,  with  emotion,  kissing 
the  wrinkled  hands  of  the  old  lady.  "  How  can  I  ever 
repay  you  for  your  love  and  goodness?" 

"Stop!  no  more  tears  to-day,  Lena,"  cried  Gerhardt-, 
"have you  thought  of  George?" 

I  sprang  up  with  a  little  cry  of  exultation.  George, 
George!  now  he  had  a  protector,  a  father's  house,  a 
home!  I  never  would  weep  again,  and  the  tears  came 
faster  than  ever.  "  Do  let  me,  Gerhardt;  they  are  tears 
of  joy." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Four  years  have  passed  since  that  evening — years  of 
untroubled,  unalloyed  happiness.  The  sun  shines  finally 
on  Wendhusen,  full  and  complete — a  real  sun  of  blessed- 
ness— and  its  rays  reflect  back  from  the  earnest,  true  face 
of  my  husband,  and  out  of  the  sweet,  laughing  children's 
eyes — our  children.  O,  if  my  mother  had  lived,  my  joy 
would  have  been  supreme. 

We  live  in  the  old  Abbess  House.  It  is  the  dearest 
home  on  earth.  My  eldest — that  little,  fair-haired  creat- 
ure with  the  dark  eyes — trips  quite  independently  along 
the  corridor  and  knocks  with  her  rosy  knuckles  on  Aunt 
Edith's  door,  and  she  is  always  received  with  delight. 
Every  afternoon,  however,  I  send  her  over  to  the  villa  to 
grandmamma;  or  the  still  erect,  commanding  woman 
comes  herself  up  the  broad  steps,  straight  to  the  nursery, 
to  bring  her  grandchild  herself.  And  the  little  one 
clings  to  the  good  grandmamma  with  all  the  tender  love 
of  a  child's  heart. 

The  boy  in  the  cradle,  who  has  his  father's  blue  eyes 
and  the  naughty  willfulness  of  his  mother  (he  can  scream 
lustily  if  his  wishes  are  not  heeded),  is,  however,  the 
particular  favorite  of  the  old  lady.  She  sits  hours  long 
by  the  cradle,  and  never  tires  kissing  the  little,  round, 
dimpled  face. 

I  have  a  very  loving  mother-in-law,  and  the  moment 
when  I  knelt  by  her  bed  and  she  welcomed  me  as  Ger- 
hardt's  betrothed,  is  one  of  the  most  important  of  my  life. 

(847) 


248  CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

She  never  spoke  of  my  mother,  and,  though  it  was  a 
sorrow  to  me,  I  did  not  dare  question. 

However,  when  Gerhardt  and  I,  accompanied  by  her, 
went  to  my  father's  native  town  to  arrange  about  the 
dowry,  she  wanted  to  give  everything  to  the  little  bride 
with  the  empty  hands.  With  my  heart  overflowing  with 
gratitude,  I  threw  my  arms  about  her  neck,  and  then 
she  said,  shyly  and  hastily: 

"Come,  Lena,  take  me  to  the  churchyard — to  her 
grave."  And  she  sat  a  long  time  by  the  cypress-grown 
mound,  and  bitter  tears  fell  there. 

And  when  we  finally  went  away,  she  took  my  hand 
and  said: 

"  I  thank  God  I  have  still  time,  Lena,  to  do  the  good 
to  you  that  I  failed  to  do  for  her." 

A  greater  concession  I  could  not  wish. 

The  library  is  Gerhardt's  study,  as  it  was  his  father's 
before  him,  and,  opening  out  of  it,  the  large  room  with 
the  balcony  that  looks  out  upon  the  cloister  garden  is 
my  room. 

My  sewing-table  stands  by  the  window,  and  for  me 
there  is  no  lovelier  view  in  the  world.  The  garden  is  the 
play-ground  of  my  children;  they  live  there,  and  little 
Theresa  plays  with  delight  on  the  old  grave-stone. 
There  it  glistens  through  the  foliage,  my  much-loved 
place.  The  evening  of  our  wedding-day,  Gerhardt  led 
me  out  on  the  balcony,  and  there,  in  the  bluish  moon- 
light, he  whispered  that  it  was  there  for  the  first  time 
that  the  little  cousin  seemed  particularly  charming  to 
him,  with  the  crimson  wreath  on  her  head;  and  that 
often,  very  often  afterward,  he  would  stand  behind  the 
jalousies  and  look  down  on  me  where  I  sat,  so  uncon- 
scious of  an  observer. 

Gottlieb  drove  us  to  the  church;  and  it  was  a  proud 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  249 

day  for  him  when  he  guided  the  four  bay  horses  from 
the  high  seat  of  the  bride's  carriage.  He  was  also  the 
first  one  to  address  me  as  "Gracious  Frau,"  even  before 
our  old  Christiana,  who  had  not  been  deterred  by  the  long 
journey  from  coming  to  me  on  my  bridal-day.  As  the 
old  man  brought  a  wedding  gift  in  the  name  of  the 
servants,  he  said,  in  his  simple-hearted  way: 

"Gracious  Frau,  I  helped  a  little  bit  to  this — you 
know — when  you  would  go  away  that  time." 

Now  he  drives  me  out  almost  daily — me  and  the  chil- 
dren. He  is  my  especial  coachman,  by  Gerhardt's  com- 
mand; and  if  at  any  time  he  is  out  of  sorts,  he  quite 
tyrannizes  over  me,  and  says,  though  very  respectfully: 

"It  looks  like  rain;  we  had  better  stay  at  home,  my 
lady;  the  children  might  take  cold." 

And  I  nod  and  look  up  at  the  sky,  and  even  if  my 
eyes  do  not  discover  any  clouds,  I  say:  "You  are  right, 
Gottlieb;  we  will  remain  at  home  in  the  cloister  garden." 

Only  one  dark  shadow  moves  in  this  summer  bright- 
ness— P'erra.  She  has  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  her 
little  son,  and  through  that  has  vanished  her  last  support. 
She  is  a  poor,  complaining,  restless  creature.  A  few 
years  ago  she  married  again;  the  bridegroom  was  the 
old  man  from  S —  that  she  once  assigned  to  Lotta.  She 
lives  in  Paris,  Baden-Baden,  or  Italy,  as  the  mood  takes 
her.  She  could  not  exist,  she  thought,  on  the  allowance 
Gerhardt  generously  provided  for  her,  when  she  had 
believed  herself  to  be  mistress  of  Wendhusen;  so  she 
accepted  the  hand  of  the  aged  man. 

She  left  Wendhusen  very  soon.  When  Gerhardt  led 
me  to  his  mother,  she  had  already  left  the  villa.  She 
separated  from  him  in  anger,  and  has  not  forgiven  him 
to-day.  He  not  only  should  not  have  married  at  all, 
but  he  married  a  penniless  girl! 


250  CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN. 

Later,  Aunt  Edith  told  me  that  Ferra  had  endeavored 
to  hold  Wendhusen  for  her  son;  and  so  at  any  price 
would  have  prevented  Gerhardt  from  marrying — 

However,  a  short  time  ago  I  received  a  letter  from 
her;  she  called  me  her  "  Little  Magdalena,"  and  begged 
for  quite  a  large  sum,  "  because  she  was  in  momentary 
embarrassment."  Gerhardt  gave  me  the  money  to  send 
to  her. 

"  See,"  he  said,  "so  begins  misfortune.  She  has  secrets 
from  her  husband.  Write  to  her,  Lena,  and  place  before 
her  that  happiness  only  thrives  where  confidence  dwells." 

But  she  never  answered  me.  Pray  God  that  sometime 
sunshine  may  fall  on  this  dark  page! 

"  And  Charlotte?"  asks  the  reader. 

O,  I  will  not  forget  Charlotte;  she  is  really  the  hero- 
ine of  this  narrative — my  dear,  beautiful  Charlotte. 

Three  days  ago  I  went  with  my  husband  to  FOlkerode 
on  a  glorious  summer  day.  We  were  the  last  to  arrive; 
mamma  and  Aunt  Edith  had  driven  over  early  in  the  day 
with  the  bride.  Charlotte  would  be  married  at  F<Mke- 
rode;  I  could  not  be  separated  too  long  from  the  chil- 
dren. It  was  the  first  time  I  had  left  the  little  lad  in  the 
cradle.  Of  course,  I  had  to  make  a  wedding  toilet. 

"You  must  wear  a  white  dress,"  said  my  husband,  and 
plucked  for  me,  with  his  own  hand,  in  the  cloister  garden, 
the  crimson  blooms  of  his  favorite  flower  to  place  in  my 
hair.  He 'was  very  enthusiastic  over  his  little  wife's 
appearance  in  the  lace-trimmed  dress  of  India  mull, 
quite  as  much  to-day  as  on  our  wedding-day,  when  I  first 
wore  it. 

We  found  the  whole  house  at  Folkerode  trimmed  with 
oak  garlands;  and  when  we  entered  the  room  the  mar- 
riage was  solemnized.  There  were  only  the  members  of 
the  family  present,  who  stood  around  the  bridal  pair, 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN.  251 

before  the  altar  made  of  evergreens.  It  was  a  serious 
wedding,  much  more  solemn  than  usual  when  two  bind 
themselves  together  for  life. 

Gerhardt  held  my  hand  close  in  his  own  during  the 
ceremony;  I  saw  how  moist  his  eyes  were.  In  the  back- 
ground showed  Gottlieb's  silvery-white  head. 

The  window  of  the  large  room  stood  open,  and  the 
sweet  breath  from  the  forest  filled  the  room.  The  beau- 
tiful bride  was  pale;  but  when  the  minister  asked  if  she 
would  stand  by  his  side  in  joy  and  sorrow,  in  sickness 
and  health,  till  death  should  them  part,  and  the  "  Yes  " 
came  clearly  from  her  lips,  the  tall  man  by  her  side  threw 
his  arm,  with  visible  emotion,  around  her;  and  so  they 
knelt  down  before  the  altar  for  the  blessing,  and  the  old 
man  laid  his  hands  in  holy  benediction  on  their  heads. 
Charlotte  von  Demphoff  had  become  Berka's  wife,  after 
a  long  inward  struggle. 

No,  it  was  no  joyful  wedding;  it  could  not  be.  But 
there  never  was  a  marriage  where  there  was  more  holy 
consecration,  and  purer  resolves,  than  that  in  the  lonely, 
out-of-the-world  forest  house. 

In  that  slender  girl,  with  the  modestly  drooped  head, 
was  the  embodiment  of  love  —  the  mighty,  all-con- 
quering love;  the  paleness,  which  sprung  from  deep 
agitation,  did  not  leave  the  sweet  face;  and  Robert's 
eyes  followed  her  with  anxiety,  as  if  he  feared  still 
that  she  might  be  torn  from  him;  and  when  she 
turned  to  him,  there  lay  an  expression  of  thankfulness 
on  his  features  which  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes  from 
sympathy. 

In  the  rosy  twilight  we  started  on  our  journey  home. 
A  loving  kiss  from  Charlotte,  a  hand-pressure  from 
Robert,  and  Gerhardt  lifted  me  into  our  carriage. 

The  young  wife  stood  on  the  steps,  under  the  shadow 


CLOISTER    WENDHUSEN. 

of  the  tall  oaks  whose  tops  were  still  bathed  in  the  sun- 
light. Farewells  were  kissed;  she  threw  her  arms  around 
her  mother's  neck,  bent  down  to  Aunt  Edith,  and  we 
were  off.  Yet  once  again,  two  old  women's  faces  peered 
out  of  the  carriage  window  for  one  more  look,  and  the 
horses  started.  "  Adieu,  Charlotte;  adieu,  Robert," 
called  Gerhardt  and  I,  and  Gottlieb  followed  the  other 
carriage. 

I  kept  my  head  turned  back  just  as  long  as  I  could 
see  them;  they  stood,  in  a  close  embrace,  on  the  steps, 
and  looked  after  us.  Again  a  last  greeting,  a  nod,  and 
the  solitary  forest  house  vanished  behind  us  in  the  dis- 
tant beech  woods.  Gerhardt  held  my  hand,  and  silently 
we  drove  in  the  darkening  night.  While  the  after-glow  of 
the  sunset  was  still  in  the  sky,  the  moon  was  rising  in 
the  east,  and  flooded  the  world  with  her  silvery  sheen, 
and  finally  appeared  through  the  dark  foliage  that  high- 
pointed  gable  roof  under  which  my  children  were  slum- 
bering— Wendhusen,  my  home,  my  happiness! 

And  now  I  will  close. 

In  the  next  room  I  hear  Aunt  Edith's  soft  voice.  She 
is  telling  my  mother-in-law  of  a  note  she  has  just 
received  from  Robert. 

"  They  are  so  happy,  Theresa,"  she  says. 

It  is  a  joy  to  see  both  old  ladies  together.  Tenderer 
could  no  sisters  be  than  they  in  their  intercourse  with 
one  another. 

Have  I  spoken  of  all,  now?  Ah,  no;  George,  my 
slender,  pretty  brother,  Gerhardt's  favorite,  who  is  not 
crowded  out  of  his  heart  even  by  his  own  children.  He 
is  with  us  now  for  his  vacation.  There  he  comes  over 
the  grass  plat  in  the  cloister  garden.  He  is  taller  than 
I  now,  and  has  become  an  industrious,  talented  student. 
When  he  has  passed  his  examination,  he  is  going  to 


CLOISTER     WENDHUSEN.  253 

Folkerode  as  forester-scholar,  but  at  the  present  moment 
he  is  carrying  his  niece — he  is  quite  proud  of  being 
uncle.  How  awkwardly  he  holds  the  little  midget  on 
his  arm!  but  she  laughs  and  tousles  his  dark,  curly  hair. 
She  has  now  compensation  for  Auntie  Lotta,  whom  she 
has  missed  very  much. 

And  here  comes  a  guest  purring  around  the  writing- 
desk,  and  reminds  me  not  to  forget  Minka,  the  dearest 
play-fellow  of  my  children.  Does  she  not  belong  also 
to  Cloister  Wendhusen? 


THE   END. 


Hill  Illlllllll  Illllimi 

A    000  043  667     5 


